Hollyhock
by Suzumehime
Summary: Aoi was a girl of mysterious origin. A girl who's loved by her adoptive parents, struck up an unlikely friendship with a standoffish boy, and befriended an enemy. During the warring-states-period, it's hard to preserve such fantastical life. She lost her loved ones before. She's about to lose more than her name and a loved one. [Tobirama x OC] [Slight!Izuna x OC] [Slow burn]
1. Chapter 1

_She was told an ancient curse ran in her blood_ _–_ "Tsukimono," the hoarse voice rasped – _and a tragic death awaited her at path's end._

 _That there was nothing they could do about it._

* * *

A woman in her mid-thirties lifted her caramel eyes from her needlework, a look of weariness etched across her lined face. In a matter of seconds, the soft pattering on the tin roof exploded into a dissonance of rain. She discarded her unfinished project into a nearby wicker basket and stood up. Careful not to trip over the futon on the floor, she rushed to bolt the one window they'd not boarded up to let fresh air in.

A hushed silence fell over the hut. Tsubo ran a hand through her walnut brown hair, shoulders sagging with relief, as the deluge continued outside. There was a loud bang from the entryway, causing her to jump with fright. A gust of wind swirled into the hut, throwing the dried herbs suspended from the ceiling in a frenzied dance as they swayed violently above her head.

The front door framed a misshapen silhouette, large and intimidating due to the armours strapped to the man's body. Behind him, rain fell in buckets. He staggered into the cramped entryway, muttering curses under his breath. An overwhelming sense of relief and delight washed over Tsubo, a dreary feeling she lived with over the decades. Coming back to her senses, she dug through one of the drawers for a towel as her husband wrestled with the door.

"Blasted rain!" grouched Manabu, putting his entire weight on the door. It shut with a satisfying slam. "I'd hoped to get back before it starts pouring – just my luck." He was drenched from head to toe. Heck, he could feel rainwater dripping into his armour.

"No!" snapped Tsubo, the moment her husband made a move to put one bare foot over the raised threshold. "I won't have you traipsing in here, leaving puddles and mud all over the floor." She tossed him the towel which he deftly caught. "Dry yourself off at the entrance. Goodness, you look like you fell into a river."

Hobbling on one foot, a grumbling Manabu flopped down on the steps, back to his wife. There was a disgusting squelch of water from where he sat, eliciting a moan from the man. He kicked off the remaining sandal, and desperately rubbed the towel on his face and dripping black hair.

Tsubo knelt beside her husband, wringing her fingers. She was anxious for updates from his patrol on the eastern border of their land. "How does it look?" she finally caved in after an excruciating minute.

The wiping motion slowed but didn't stop. Manabu shook his head from side to side.

"That bad?"

"The rivers are severely flooded after _that_ freak storm. Paths in the forest are blocked by debris," Manabu listed, lowering the towel to dry his cold damp feet. "We need clean-up crews. But I can't foresee our clan head sending people out – not until the typhoon is completely out of the mountains. If we're covering the whole area, it'll take _at least_ a week to clear everything up." Thinking of the amount of workload piling up one after another, his back slumped with fatigue. He had been up at the crack of dawn, left to survey the damages with his team in addition to their routine patrol of the clan borders.

At forty, Manabu looked physically older than he should. Such was shinobi life in this never-ending state of war. The current armistice could break at moment's notice. A life on the edge. It was normal for everyone – shinobi or otherwise. How many years? How many decades, or centuries this war had been going on for? How much longer?

He shook off those gloomy thoughts and peered over his shoulder. Much of the wooden floor was taken up by a futon and its current resident. The hut functioned as a herb store, doubling as a recovery room for isolated patients. Though the original purpose was rarely practised; it's a long-standing belief that patients recovered faster and better in the familiar environment of their homes.

"How's the kid holding up?" Manabu enquired. The patient under his wife's care didn't stir as rain pounded the hut, even amidst the ruckus earlier. Only the steady rise and fall of the duvet betrayed the tell-tale sign of sleep.

"Still recovering. She woke up once, three hours ago for water."

"I see." A shadow passed over his features. Manabu tore his eyes from the futon. "That's good."

Tsubo placed a hand on his elbow. "You need rest, dear" She coaxed the towel out of his balled-up fist. "I'll update you if there's any progress. Go home, take a hot bath and nap."

The rain hadn't let up. Regardless, Manabu nodded, his wife's promise assuaging him a little. "And sake."

"And sake," Tsubo echoed with an indulgent smile, rising to her feet, soaked towel in hand.

Watching her husband reaching for the door, an image flashed in the woman's mind. Vivid, as if it truly was happening now. But it was not the familiar back of her husband facing her. Nor was there a heady smell of dried herbs and musty wood. Two nights ago, at the height of the typhoon. Her husband charging into the infirmary, soaked to the skin and panting breathlessly from the long sprint across the mountains and forest, a small girl dangling lifelessly in his arms.

Mud.

And so much blood dripping onto the infirmary's floor from the child.

* * *

A veil of azure greeted bleary eyes the next morn, a single glowing disc hanging in its midst. After days of torrential rain, the welcoming sight was surreal. The typhoon had left the valley, much to the relief of the community. It would be another nine or ten months until the next typhoon season.

The valley was a buzz of activity. People were arming themselves with brooms and shovels. Children ran amok, jumping over fallen trees while fussing parents screamed after them. Teams were being organised in the central courtyard, reports from previous shifts passed to superiors. It was organised chaos for the days to come.

The girl had sporadically woken up for food and water. She could only stomach thin soups, barely managing a few sips before slipping back into the arms of darkness. Sometimes, while watching her sleep, Tsubo wondered if she dreamed.

Besides herself and a doctor, the boy became a constant sight beside the girl's sleeping form. Overhearing a conversation between his parents, he'd snuck into the hut after his father stopped by to check on her condition the other day. Much to his dismay, he kept missing the brief moments when the girl was awake, according to Tsubo. He visited daily since, insisting that he was helping her monitor the patient. Tsubo knew otherwise.

On the third day of his vigil, the boy let out a gasp. "Oh, how cool! They're blue!"

He leaned forward on his knees, unperturbed by the blank stare of her blue eyes. They reminded him of the clear azure sky the morning after the typhoon passed. Enthralled, he studied her intensely. He was turning ten in a week's time, and guts instinct told him the girl was younger. Her face was adorned in a décor of gauzes and dressings, but he could just make out very fair skin and the freckles dotting across her cheeks and button nose. Her hair was unlike he'd ever seen. Undoubtedly red, but with strong hints of orange. Pumpkins came to mind. Tempura too.

The boy grinned toothily. It was time for an introduction. "Hello, my name is Hashirama, eldest son of Butsuma! Pleased to meet your acquittance!"

His hand was dutifully ignored.

"Umm… let's see," he ruminated as the silence stretched on. He threw his arms far and wide above his head in a dramatic gesture. "Welcome to my home! Oh, this hut isn't exactly my home," he swiftly amended, as the girl glanced around. "What I mean is, this place – this land — is where I live. Which reminds me – where are you from? What's your name? Oh, do tell! If it's a secret, you can tell me. I'm honest!"

He was determined to make it a personal mission. He waited with bated breath until he realised the girl's attention was elsewhere. He whipped his head about.

"What is it? Are you looking for something? If you're looking for Tsubo, she left to…" Hashirama trailed off. Those wide azure orbs had halted in their search and were staring at him again. Tears were pooling at the corner of her eyes, and he could feel his confidence slipping down a steep, slippery slope along with his composure.

* * *

Hashirama was skipping from one foot to another, as he spun around in a bizarre dance ritual, hollering garbled words over the wails, and pulling at his hair in fits of hysteria.

This was how a perplexed Tsubo found the eldest son of her clan head. She sighed in exasperation, shutting the door behind her. She had only nipped to the adjacent infirmary for a few minutes. She took in a deep breath.

"Hashirama!"

"Tsu-Tsubo!" Hashirama whipped around, tearing up at her appearance at the entryway. His face practically screamed relief before turning pale. The sobbing hadn't stopped. He was dead. "I-I'm sorry, Tsubo!" he sputtered, as Tsubo calmly strolled past him and knelt at the crying girl's side. "I didn't mean it. I… err… she –" he was cut off by the shushing noise the woman made. Whether that's directed at him or the redhead, he wasn't sure. A bit of both?

Arms around the trembling frame, Tsubo rubbed consoling circles on the small back as the redhead sobbed into her komon. Like magic, the cries gradually died down to sniffles. Hashirama was envious of Tsubo's ability, but he reminded himself that it worked well on his younger siblings too. Not the second though… he grew up too fast.

Wincing, Hashirama dropped his head in despair. "I'm sorry. I mean I did promise to look after her for you but I… I failed."

"That's fine," assured Tsubo, wearing a placating smile. "Go on home. I'll take it from here. Thank you, Hashirama."

The boy instantly brightened like a thousand suns. He snapped his posture straight and bowed deeply in respect. Humble and amicable, much like his mother, he always meant well. Tsubo couldn't help but forgive him.

Hashirama spared a glance at the girl, as he put on his slippers. She'd stopped crying altogether, lessening his guilt, and was clinging onto Tsubo. Making a mental promise to make it up to the girl one day, he bade them farewell and opened the door.

Tsubo brushed away the strands of ginger from the girl's face. A warm, tingling sensation rose in her chest at the way she peeked at her with timid blue eyes. She couldn't help the adoring smile forming on her lips. "What's the matter, child?"

Brief hesitation. Then –

"I'm hungry."

There was an earth-shattering crash, followed by a yelp of pain, outside the hut. _Someone_ had tripped over himself and knocked over the rain catcher barrel on the way out.

* * *

Migraines.

She hated them.

She hated the strong acrid aftertaste of the herbal medicine to treat it. She'd rather sleep through the agonising pain.

Tsubo had finished recounting Hashirama's visit to her only and younger sister, who was clutching her stomach and doubled over in laughter. The sound grated her ears down to her bones.

"Please stop, Yui," admonished Tsubo, resisting the urge to slam a hand on the tatami mat. "Control yourself!"

Yui choked out an apology through tears. "Can't help it. I haven't had a good laugh for a long time. Here," A pile of folded komon was dumped into Tsubo's arms, "these are all I could find in your house."

Raising an eyebrow, Tsubo lifted the komon at the top of the pile. It was bright purple, patterned with gold embroidery of butterfly motifs. "I asked for casualwear, Yui. And this is yours."

"That _is_ casualwear!" retorted Yui, affronted. A playful spark entered her caramel eyes. "I thought it will be fun to have more choices. You know who has the better fashion taste."

Putting aside the clothes, Tsubo snorted. As if she cared then and now. Having clothes on her back was enough. It wasn't always possible to acquire new clothes during wartime, and a lot of Tsubo's possessions were passed down to Yui. Though occasionally, their late parents would order an outrageous komon to pacify their tantrum-throwing daughter.

While her clansmen favoured neutral and earthy tones, Yui was unorthodox and set in her ways; there were plenty of intriguing tales from her kunoichi days. Being a mother had not stopped her. Nothing ever did. Stubbornness was a family trait.

Yui snatched her old komon back and marched over to the tiny porch – a view of the bamboo forest that grew around the hut greeting her – with a resolute expression. The girl was perched on the edge, listlessly watching clouds drifting by, and made no move to acknowledge the other woman's presence.

"Look here, it matches her hair perfectly," crowed Yui, lifting the purple komon over the girls' back.

Tsubo rolled her eyes at her sister. "Whatever makes you happy."

Huffing defiantly, Yui lowered the komon and gazed longingly at the ginger hair. The locks fell in thick cascades down her back, long enough that the tips reached the floor and pooled around her in curly ringlets. Against the lush green bamboos in the background, the warm colour seemed to brighten the fusty old hut.

"She'll make a pretty picture against the autumn backdrop, don't you think?" Yui sighed wistfully. "Those beautiful eyes of hers – she'll have boys swooning at her feet when she's older."

Tsubo eyed her sister warily. "You talk as if she's staying here for some time."

"Because, _aneue_ , does she have a place to go?"

* * *

In the early years of their marriage, Tsubo and Manabu had tried several times without luck to conceive, eventually giving up the hope when the war intensified. A strong and healthy child would bring honour to the Senju clan – so tradition stated – but the idea of bringing an innocent life into this world, only for it to perish in a wink, was selfish.

They kept their opinion to themselves. Easier to receive pity than be ostracised. Too many of their clansmen were notorious and sensitive. Which made Yui's suggestion was dangerous. Preposterous. Impossible.

But sorely tempting.

Once the seed was sown, nightly musings nourished. It sprouted and flowered. The new seed dropped into the palm of its next target, Manabu, and the cycle continued.

A week passed since Yui planted the idea in Tsubo's head. Manabu sat down with his wife around the warm hearth in their house after dinner. He set his sake cup down, the cogs of his brain were working smoothly as if well-oiled despite the alcohol buzzing in his body.

"Are you sure about this, Tsubo?" asked Manabu, studying his wife.

Scowling deeply, Tsubo bit her lower lip. Her husband had told her the discovery of a man's body in one of the eastern mountains, buried in a landslide that presumably killed him and left the child fighting for her life. By all accounts, the deceased man was her kin. The resemblance was unsubtle. Father. Brother. Who knew? It wasn't as if they could ask a dead man or the girl, given her condition.

Emboldened, Tsubo asserted, "I want – no, need – your opinion before I ask the child."

"Do you think she will understand in her current state?" Manabu sourly argued. He didn't want to force the girl into a situation she had no control over. What if she regretted it in later years? What if she came to hate them? He was sorry about her circumstances. Sorry that his team couldn't be there before disaster struck. Perhaps they could have saved the man that might have cherished her. Loved her. Could have saved the girl from a life of misery.

Tsubo placed a hand over the sake cup, steadying his trembling hand, bringing him out of those muddling thoughts that haunted him on vulnerable nights. "She'll come around. Give her time, patience and a lot of love." She took his other hand in hers, and laced her fingers through his. "We can work this out, dear. _Together_."

* * *

They were lucky to schedule a private meeting in two nights time. The clan head was a busy man – what with dealing with the typhoon's aftermath in addition to his usual responsibilities. But he admitted, it was a matter to be dealt with sooner or later anyway.

Butsuma was the personification of the ideal warrior. Stoic and down-to-earth, nobody was foolish to cross him. And yet, the air around him seemed to burn from the sheer determination emanating from the couple sitting before him. It was admirable.

"It is unfortunate," said Butsuma, studying their faces behind an indifferent mask, "but we cannot naively assume her relatives are not looking for her."

"With due respect, sir," Manabu carefully worded, "it's been two weeks. To date, none of the patrols has spotted a single person on that route since then. If her relatives are truly concerned about her whereabouts, mere obstacles shouldn't deter them."

The long, winding route in the eastern mountains straddled an established neutral zone, through lands owned by warmongering shinobi clans. Hardy travellers, comprising of monks and the odd experienced merchants, were already few and far between. Days of torrential rainfall during a typhoon season, as with the last one, could raise the risk of traversing the mountains from dangerous to fatal, it wasn't surprising the route was barren of travellers.

"If the Uzumaki lost one of their own, as you've suggested, they would've sent someone here ages ago," Manabu went on. "They will surely search for their kin. We're not far off from the mountains, and they have ways to find us."

"We can't leave a defenceless child on her own," Tsubo threw in her two cents.

 _Not at this state; she_ will _die._

Butsuma closed his eyes, letting the unspoken but strongly implied words hung in the air. Behind him, a _fusuma_ glided open to reveal a woman with shoulder-length platinum hair and friendly red eyes.

"Pardon for the intrusion. I apologise for being late," the clan matriarch smiled ruefully, closing the door behind her. "It's hard getting Kawarama to sleep these days." She took her place beside her husband, folding her komon neatly with the grace and ease befitting her name. It was hard to imagine – ironic – that she'd once dirtied her hands in blood. All for the clan.

"Thank you for joining us, Kiyohana-san," Tsubo bowed her head in respect, her husband imitating her. "I apologise for requesting to meet at this time of night."

Living in a close-knit community, gossips could spread like wildfire if one's not watchful. Kiyohana couldn't fault them for wanting this clandestine meeting held under the cover of darkness. The child's unique appearance alone would attract too much unnecessary attention.

The matriarch waved it off. "I confess, my curiosity has been eating at me. I wanted to see the child for myself." Lips curved in a cordial smile, she gestured at the quiet girl between the couple. "May I?" It was part of the agreement.

Nodding her discretion, Tsubo leaned down to whisper into the girl's ear. Sensing Butsuma's calculating dark eyes, she was, for once, grateful for her sister's meddling. Tsubo might have given the child a thorough sponge-bath, painstakingly brushed the hip-length ginger hair to make her presentable, but none of her old clothes would fit the redhead.

It wasn't the child. It was a famine from bygone years. Her younger sister was no less fortunate. By the time she reached the child's height, the drought was a distant memory.

The redhead stiffly clambered to her feet, causing the hem of the borrowed purple and gold komon to flutter around her skinny ankles. Eyes glued to the floor, she padded across the room – " _to the smiling lady with hair like silver"_ – her features sharpening in the light cast by a paper lamp near the middle of the room.

It was the first time Butsuma saw her out of the futon. Her movements, the way her arms swayed beside her, were clumsy and jarring to a shinobi's eye. One quick glance confirmed his burning suspicion. _A civilian child._

Perhaps out of curiosity, the girl glanced up from the floor to Kiyohana. And then Butsuma. She faltered in her steps and shrunk back, ready to flee. The matriarch was soon upon her, kneeling on the tatami and blocking Butsuma from her view. The redhead watched her nervously.

"Don't be afraid, child," cooed Kiyohana, as she coaxed her to sit. "Come, let me take a good look at you." She buried her fingers deep in the ginger hair and gently tilted the girl's head up. Hashirama was right about the blue of her eyes.

Rubbing soft circles on a freckled cheek, Kiyohana traced one of the healing scars marring the freckled face. Her heart arched for the child, remembering the circumstance that landed her here. The girl couldn't be older than her second or eldest.

The azure eyes closed with a fluttering of lashes. Kiyohana blinked in astonishment, as the tenseness in the small shoulders seemed to melt away under her touch. The girl was a ball of nerves during the whole meeting, she sensed it through the walls from the boys' room. How… how interesting.

"Kiyohana?"

Not wishing for a chastisement from her dearest husband, the matriarch shook her head, biting back a giggle. She recomposed herself and concentrated.

"I sense no connection to the others," Kiyohana informed the room a few moments later. The adults immediately understood _the others_ meant clans – rival or ally – they'd interacted with in the past. "Her chakra signature is different. She's not from any of the civilian settlements near the mountains." She removed her hands from the child. The clear azure skies re-emerged and gazed at her with mild curiosity. Kiyohana patted her head. "I've never come across anyone similar."

Crossing his arms, Butsuma chewed it over as the couple looked at him with unabashed expectation. "Fine," he finally relented with a grunt, drawing gasps of delight. "I will send messengers to the nearest villages, and a summon to the Uzumaki clan tomorrow. If it turns out the girl belongs to one of them, and someone from their side discovers it much later, it'll cost us unnecessary problems," he rationalised, despite trusting his wife's assessment. After all, Kiyohana was the clan's most skilled sensor. Though he had high hopes that his second son would surpass her in this field. "At the very least, it'll take about five days for the messengers to return. Until then, I am putting the child under your care _temporarily_."

Despite his wordings, the overjoyed couple thanked him earnestly.

Kiyohana beamed at them and turned back to the girl. "Isn't this great?" The redhead nodded mutely. "Do you have a name, dear child?" At the blank stare, she let out a sheepish chuckle. "Oh, right. You don't remember. Erm… never mind. I'm sure –"

"– Aoi," the redhead lisped. Turning away from a stunned Kiyohana, she asked, "Correct?"

Tsubo dipped her head in agreement, a warm look entering her eyes. At her beckoning, the girl rushed back to her side without a moment's hesitation. "That's right, Aoi," she patted her head, "that's your name."

' _What's this?'_ Butsuma scowled in suspicion. What he heard in this very room seconds ago conflicted with the doctor's diagnosis. The girl reportedly was left with head trauma from the incident in the mountain, failing to recall anything since waking up the first time in the hut weeks ago. After running a few tests, her doctor had concluded amnesia. So why…

"Please accept our apologies," Tsubo began, as if reading his mind. "We meant to inform you after the meeting's over. I've only decided on _Aoi_ before coming here."

Butsuma visibly relaxed.

"As I said, it's too simple," Manabu scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "Too straightforward. Look, even Kiyohana-dono is flabbergasted."

"Idiot! I've told you, haven't I? The character is written like this –" Tsubo drew patterns on the floor with swift and furious motions using her index finger. " _Hollyhock!_ Not _blue_!"

Manabu opened his mouth to fire back a retort but was promptly cut off by a cough. The couple shared a look of embarrassment and apologised for the ruckus, while a recovered Kiyohana giggled behind a hand at their expense.

Butsuma rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. At least, he could stop referring to the girl as – well _'that girl'_ or _'that child.'_

* * *

 ** _Though this is my third shot at publishing a fan-fiction on this site, this is my first time writing a Naruto fan-fiction. Also, it's been a while since I've sat down, planned and write up a story. I've been on hiatus for more than a year due to university. But now that I have time and the muses to help me get going, I thought why not? I chose Tobirama because he is undoubtedly an interesting character. He will make an appearance in the next chapter - promise! This first chapter was to set things up, and I apologise if the main OC does not have many dialogue. It is a narrative style I have chosen for this opening chapter.  
_**

 ** _ ** _Thanks for reading until this point._** ** _ ** _I hope you have enjoyed it._**_** Please let me know what you think in the review section! And if you want to look me up for a chat or updates, I'm on Tumblr as Suzumehime02. _  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Butsuma sat alone in deep contemplation, absentmindedly swirling the remnants of his _sake_ in its lacquered flask. His dark eyes burned an imaginary hole in the tatami mat, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight filtering through a narrow gap in the shoji doors. A candle stood by his side, a staunch and silent companion throwing shadows at the walls to its fancy.

Somewhere in the house, his youngest was snoring up a storm and his wife was preparing to turn in for the night, humming a melancholic lullaby. A breeze eased into the dimly lit room, cooling his cheeks flushed from the alcohol, and his mind drifted in the mid-autumn haze.

* * *

 _A sombre atmosphere hovered over the two men. His wife, Aoi and Tsubo left some time ago after their dismissal. Before him, Manabu sat ramrod straight like the trained soldier he was as he held the long and piercing gaze of his superior._

 _Something was bothering this man. Butsuma sensed it where Kiyohana couldn't; it came with the grievous baggage of being leader to a powerful clan with a myriad of enemies. And without preamble, he asked for a detailed report on the girl's rescue._

 _Butsuma ignored the look of bemusement. He had a written report submitted by a witness in the drawer of his desk in his study, but there was an undeniable advantage a black and white paper did not have over learning how events unfolded from the witness himself. He sat back, waiting for a response._

 _Manabu was visibly torn between questioning and obeying his superior's order. Realising he was given no rooms for arguments, the man eventually yielded under pressure._

 _Butsuma listened with rapt attention, as if this was the first time he was being briefed._

 _Rain coming down thick and fast; the eye of the storm approaching, skimming over the eastern border; Manabu calling the patrol off; Manabu and his team heading back to the valley; a deep rumble sending tremors beneath their feet; a loud, ominous crack and a flash of light; they turned around; one side of a mountain had vanished; the patrolling team arriving at the scene of destruction –_

" _We didn't rescue her," admitted Manabu, voice bleak and hollow. He could no longer look his superior in the eye. "We found her unconscious on the roadside, close to the landslide. She must have pulled herself out and walked away from the wreckage."_

" _What made you call the order to turn back?" The groan of rocks, dirt and trees splitting and crumbling away? A hair-raising scream?_

"… _It was the light."_

" _The light?" echoed Butsuma, intrigued. "What about it?"_

" _It was gold." Manabu blinked, the look of a defeated man faded away. "No, maybe it was more yellowish-red? We were at the foot of the mountain, some distance away and our backs were turned." At this point, he was talking to himself._

" _It could have been lightning striking a tree," rationalised Butsuma. There were several charred skeletal remains of trees dotting around the mountains and forest, a testimony of the typhoon's sheer power._

 _Manabu nodded distractedly. "Perhaps… perhaps…"_

" _Manabu," Butsuma heaved a sigh. "The landslide – the way the girl is right now – those were not your fault." There was no condemnation in his voice. "So, stop beating yourself over it and move on."_

* * *

The tranquil night was disrupted by a loud crash from the entryway, the animated voice of the eldest announcing their return from a training session, drowning out his two siblings' exasperated pleas – which were soon joined in by a fluttery Kiyohana's hushed admonishments.

A sigh of exhaustion escaped Butsuma. He set the empty flask and cup on the tatami floor, uncrossed his legs and rose from the comfortable cushion.

Best get that letter to the Uzumaki clan sorted.

* * *

A hand reached out to brush the tatami mat in a pensive manner, feeling the minute bumps and loose straws prickling back. It was a hand of a child, the fair skin roughened from grasping the hilt of a kunai or sword, performing feats unachievable for one his age were he not born into the Senju – and well, were he not who he resolved to be.

"Mother?"

"Yes?"

"Who came to visit last night?" Itama asked, holding a tenacious Kawarama in his lap to stop his baby brother from wandering over to the edge of the porch. He glanced at the tall and slender figure of his mother, who was hanging laundry in the backyard. "We saw three people walking from the house in the opposite direction. One of them was very short."

Tobirama removed his hand from the mat. "Was it someone from a village coming to talk to father?"

Kiyohana resisted a smile. Her second was being uncharacteristically nosy. "What makes you say that, Tobirama?"

"There were two Senju, but the third's chakra is different from the rest of us."

It was a cloudy night and the street poorly lit to make out their features from the distance, Tobirama wasn't sure who it belonged to. He scowled at his mother. He knew without a doubt she was present at the meeting. She was pretending to be clueless.

Hashirama poked his head out from behind a linen, juggling a wooden bucket of laundry too large for his arms for his mother. "Is that true?" This one clearly wasn't.

An impish glint entered her red eyes. Kiyohana quickly smoothed it over. "Tobirama's right, Hashirama. But it wasn't _just_ anybody."

"So, who was it?" Tobirama, Hashirama and Itama asked in unison.

"A girl named Aoi."

"The short one?" asked Itama, the same time Tobirama said, "What business does this girl have with father that late at night?" the same time Hashirama spoke in rapid succession, "Aoi? Who's that? Where is she from? Come on, mum, tell me! It's my birthday for crying out loud!"

' _Of course, Hashirama doesn't know about her new name,'_ Kiyohana thought gleefully.

She loved messing with Hashirama, it quickly developed into a hobby. Second to turning her rigid husband and second eldest into spluttering messes.

"Oh, silly. You know who she is, Hashirama," Kiyohana hinted with a teasing lilt, causing the demanding tugs on her komon to stop.

Hashirama tilted his head. "I do?"

Kiyohana nodded sagely.

Snapping his book shut, Tobirama abandoned his novel, marched over to the porch. He looked at his mother pointedly, arms crossed over his chest. He might have taken after his dearest mother in terms of appearance, but it was during times like this that it was obvious he was more Butsuma than Kiyohana.

"You're no fun, Tobirama," his mother pouted. "Fine, fine. I'll spill. Aoi is the girl Tsubo-san has been looking after."

Ah. So, it was the 'mysterious' child everybody was talking about. The one his elder brother rambled on and on about after his secret visits to the cramped hut.

Hashirama's jaw dropped wide open. " _That girl!?_ Are you certain that's her name, mother?"

"Sure as the wind blows, sweetie."

The eldest stamped his foot on the ground hotly, screeching. " _Her!? Her!?_ Why did she tell you and not me? That's not fair! Not fair! Not fair!"

"Maybe she doesn't like you," tittered Kiyohana.

Hashirama squawked.

"Or she's afraid of you," Tobirama intoned, sending his brother careering back on his feet. Indifferent, he turned back to pick up his novel from the floor.

Frankly, Tobirama was disappointed it was not a mission request. He was getting stir-crazy staying within the clan borders, his body ached for some actions even if that meant taking down a mere bandit. A girl was not worth faffing over.

"Regardless." Kiyohana steadied Hashirama before he could fall back on his rump and drop the clean laundry on the dirt. She ruffled his bowl-cut hair affectionately; Butsuma was not at home to scold her for coddling the children. _Her_ children, for God's sake. "Please be more sympathetic to the poor girl. She's in a delicate situation."

* * *

After ensuring the armours were securely strapped, Manabu shoved on his sandals and hauled the entire weight of the polished metals and himself up. Turning around in the entryway, his eyes fell upon the redhead peeking around Tsubo's legs.

Aoi was swathed in a mismatched set of clothes they managed to scavenge around the house that was not moth-eaten or torn at weird places from being nicked by sharp weapons. The clothes had belonged to him when he was younger and taller. The bottom of the faded green _haori_ reached her knees, and the hems of the black trousers were rolled up and tied with straps. It was much preferable than suffocating in Tsubo's clothes though, and the komon Aoi originally wore was ruined beyond repair.

"I will be back in time for dinner," Manabu informed his wife.

Tsubo nodded in understanding and passed his sword. "Stay safe."

Aoi didn't understand what border patrol involved until she heard the pleading undertone in those two words. She didn't know where she stood; there was no trace of worry or nervousness in the larger man's countenance.

"I will."

Aoi decided she liked his voice despite the gruffness. It carried a hint of warmth she'd hear whenever Tsubo spoke to her.

She glanced from one to another, wondering what secret messages they were sending to each other in their strong gazes. The adults stood as if the world around them had faded away and it was just the two of them.

Seconds stretched into a minute. Aoi was tired of carrying the bundle in her hands behind her back as instructed. She shifted from foot to foot, growing restless in the prolonging silence.

Startled by the sudden movement, Tsubo and Manabu broke away, wearing matching red ears and looking more mortified in front of the girl than last night at the main house.

Clearing his throat, Manabu strapped on his sword with clumsy fingers. "Don't worry about a thing. I'm always careful."

"R-right," Tsubo stammered. Gosh, they were acting like they just met each other on their matchmakingday. "Oh, I-I almost forgot! Aoi?"

As if on cue, Aoi came forward and presented the bundle, wrapped in a cotton cloth, to Manabu. Instead of the rehearsed words, a strange noise emitted from the back of her throat. She clamped her mouth shut, feeling the heat rising to her freckled cheeks, and dropped her eyes dejectedly to the floor.

A large, blatantly masculine pair of hands reached down to gently remove the bundle from her trembling hands. Without something to hold, her arms fell uselessly to her sides.

"Is this packed lunch for me?"

Aoi nodded timidly at her bare feet.

"Thank you, Aoi." There was a pause. "I'll see you two tonight."

The armours rattled. Aoi looked up in time to see Manabu throwing a wave over his shoulder before the dazzling sunlight swallowed him whole.

"Well done, Aoi," smiled Tsubo, patting her head in a consoling gesture.

"B-but I –"

"It's alright to make a mistake. It was your first attempt anyway."

Aoi nodded and leaned against Tsubo, seeking comfort from her warm presence. It melted the woman's heart that the child felt safe around her.

Tsubo glanced at the empty doorway, worry worming its way into her heart. But, it was not the usual anxiety at seeing her beloved husband walking away from her, bearing armours and weapons.

She had sensed the uncertainty in Manabu. Was he having second thoughts about Aoi?

Tsubo shook her head furiously. No. Manabu made it clear that he felt sorry for Aoi. That it was dangerous to dump her in a stranger's hands, even if that stranger was an old ally.

Her caramel eyes landed on the dirty dishes by the hearth, where they had taken breakfast, and she instantly brightened at an idea. She had taken the day off from work to help Aoi settle down, and the doctor wouldn't be here until late afternoon.

Beaming, she turned to Aoi. "Would you like to help me clean the house?"

* * *

Genta was a stout man in his mid-sixties with fine wisps of salt and pepper hair skirting a gaping crown bald spot, yellowy teeth, and stood with a hunch at their doorway. When Tsubo first started out as his assistant, the doctor was working in shifts between the infirmary and making house calls, until it proved taxing to juggle so many responsibilities at a certain age. Genta refused to end his profession when the clan needed his expertise, enduring the long walks and hours each day to visit his patients at their homes with Tsubo in tow. Though he had retired from his post at the infirmary, there were times when he was called back to lend a hand – as in Aoi's case.

"She heals fast," commented Tsubo, wrapping a fresh roll of bandage around Aoi's forehead.

It had taken much cajoling and bribery (in the form of _daifuku_ ) for the girl to sit still for Genta during her examination. He always left foul-smelling balms for her wounds that made her stomach churn.

"She's young, this one," Genta lazily replied from the porch, turning the long and delicate handle of his trusty smoking pipe between his thumb and index finger. "It's not surprising."

Yet, the long scar running along Aoi's left arm was smooth to touch and already fading. It had been deep and required stitches.

Genta shrugged it off and took a long drag from his pipe. He watched the tendrils of smoke rising and dancing in the air. The sky was tinted pink and orange by the sun sinking behind the mountains. He admired the scenery before him for a few minutes of peace before extinguishing the pipe.

Tsubo was picking up the old bandages from the floor when he entered the house. The girl sat in her new dressings, munching on a piece of the sweet confection. Genta eyed the baggy clothes draped around her small frame. He didn't comment on the choice of clothing, as he ambled towards his cabinetry by the entryway.

Aoi gave a little jump when he passed her and scuffled back until her back hit the wall. She drew her knees to her chest, wary eyes tracking his movements.

Pulling on the leather straps over his shoulders, Genta mentally snorted with mild amusement. "I'm going home," he announced, not missing the look of relief on the child's face.

Tsubo saw him off at the front door. "Thank you for coming all this way, sensei."

"It's fine. I understand your worries," Genta mumbled around his pipe's handle. He peered around Tsubo. "Look after your mother, kiddo."

Aoi pulled her teeth away just as she was about to take another bite of the half-eaten _daifuku_. She looked around to find the doorway empty.

* * *

Ignoring the heated protests and perplexed onlookers, Tsubo half-dragged and half-led a chagrined Genta through the street down her home. Once they were out of earshot, she released the wrist from her strong grip and let out a breathless sigh. She looked around and found themselves in the bamboo forest behind the street. In the distance, the tan house roofs in her tiny neighbourhood peeked out from between the towering stalks.

"There better be a good explanation," Genta grumbled tetchily, adjusting his pipe between his teeth. He rubbed his wrist. "I nearly dropped my precious pipe on the ground. What if it broke, huh?"

Tsubo had the decency to look shamefaced. "I'm sorry about that. It's just…"

She didn't want anyone – including her sister – to know. The less the better. But there was no hiding after what happened in the house. She had acted on reflex. And she betted a year's worth of wage that the shrewd doctor already connected the dots after he discharged Aoi from the hut.

She felt a stab of guilt. They had known each other since she was employed in the infirmary at a time when children were already expected to contribute to the war efforts. She was nine. The troubled woman trusted him to keep this a secret.

Genta listened without interrupting, as Tsubo dove into a condensed version of the private meeting with the clan head and matriarch. Nothing had been decided. Unless Butsuma received responses from the Uzumaki or otherwise, she didn't want to give Aoi (or herself) false hopes.

His assistant might be unaware of her own actions, but Genta had noticed how Tsubo acted with restraints around Aoi back in her house. It was a huge contrast. He had watched from the hut's doorway – the retreating figures of woman and girl holding hands, Tsubo's face glowing with excitement – and assumed a lot of things.

He knew of her suppressed longing. Something must have had happened in between, and he desperately needed a smoke.

The stick struck the matchbox with a scraping noise and a fire hissed into life, briefly lighting up Genta's craggy features. He shook the matchstick vigorously, putting out the fire, and took two satisfying puffs.

"The Uzumaki?" Genta spoke for the first time in a while. "Ah, I see. Butsuma will have no luck with them."

Tsubo stood straighter. "What do you mean?"

"Some members of the Uzumaki clan are noted for their red hair, for sure. But that girl's hair doesn't come close to auburn. Hers has an orange hue." He gestured towards the tinted sky with his pipe.

Tsubo looked up. "Now that you mention it…"

"This is just my gut feeling," Genta grunted, starting towards the direction of his home. "It's not worth losing sleep over."

* * *

The house was a wedding gift from the clan, as per tradition. Next to the bedroom Tsubo and Manabu shared for eighteen years, there was a spare room used for storage.

Tsubo lifted the oil lamp in front of her and examined the dusty interior. A dull pain and longing she had buried a long time ago resurfaced in her heart. The room was intended for a child that never was.

She stole an anguished look over her shoulder, at the small figure perched on the porch. The last light of the day caught on the cascading ginger tresses. For a breath-taking moment, the woman was confident Butsuma's efforts would be for nought.

It frightened her.

* * *

" _Don't get too attached, Manabu. Once her relatives come to claim her, she will leave."_

The front door closed with a clatter. A shattered Manabu dragged his heavy feet across the entryway and plopped down on the raised threshold that separated the clean tatami interior from the entryway. He pulled off the white headband, damp with his sweat, and hunched his weary body.

The enticing aroma of steamed rice and grilled fish wafted to his nostrils, whetting his appetite. His stomach let out an appreciative growl.

"Welcome home," a tiny feminine voice greeted, causing his shoulders to twitch.

Aoi was on her knees, placing three cushions around the hearth where a warm fire crackled. She sat back on her heels, openly staring at his back.

Manabu coughed into his fist to cover his embarrassment, the thought of hunger thrown out his mind. "Ah, I'm home."

Hands darting to the sword on his hip, he began to unravel the straps. There was rustling behind him; Aoi, seemingly content with his response, resumed her task – much to his relief.

Manabu bent forward, not realising what he was doing until three pairs of footwear – his sturdy sandals, and Tsubo's and Aoi's straw slippers – arranged neatly side by side stared back at him. His eyes glazed over before he shook himself back to reality.

There was a clutter of random objects outside the spare room. It was a meagre collection of what the room held, but enough to throw Manabu off balance and send him stumbling to his feet. He marched past a nonplussed Aoi, watching him with intrigue, and peered inside. Some of the boxes had been moved around, clearing a space barely big enough to fit a person in the centre of the room. Three more days of cleaning should sort this out, he dully estimated.

Manabu slapped his forehead. His wife's motives couldn't be any clearer. _'Tsubo! She's getting ahead of herself.'_

He had the mind to talk her out of it. His foot turned sharply at an angle that would guide him to his wife grilling tonight's fishes at the backyard.

He had not taken the first step when he felt the pull on his pant leg.

"Would you like to have tea?"

The small redhead was watching him uncertainly through her lashes, wringing her fingers in the hem of the _haori_.

It took one innocently phrased question and a downward glance to shatter his objective to pieces. Manabu was unable to stop the look of amazement dawning on his features. That was the most he heard her spoke in one sentence.

Aoi was soft-spoken and polite. Whether it had anything to do with the head trauma or her timid nature, he wasn't sure – but she did possess remarkably good table manners

* * *

The next morning, Aoi was no longer hiding behind Tsubo when they saw Manabu off at the entryway. There was still a trace of timidity in her countenance but managed a whispered _"For you"_ as she placed his packed lunch in his waiting hands.

Manabu exchanged a few words with his wife before he bade them farewell. He sent a fleeting smile Aoi's way, the clan head's grim voice ringing in his ears.

" _Don't get too attached, Manabu. Once her relatives come to claim her, she will leave."_

* * *

Manabu was summoned to the main house. A week had passed since their secret meeting at the main house.

He sat rigidly, face tensed as Butsuma relayed the news. The Uzumaki and the villages he contacted were not missing a child of Aoi's description. A swift decision was made, albeit a difficult one.

It was a moonless night the following evening. With a heavy-eyed elder and the clan head present as witnesses, Tsubo and Manabu were signed as her legal guardians.

 _Aoi_

An unassuming name, inspired by a flower that carried a deep meaning, was entered in the clan register.

* * *

The mid-autumn night was chilly and still, broken by the muffled voices of night sentries and the occasional hoot of a hiding owl. It was hard to tell time without the moon's presence, but it must be late, judging by the muted silence drifting through the bamboo forest like a cloak of mist.

The paper lantern in Manabu's grip emitted a soft amber glow, guiding their way through the dense forest towards home on the outskirts – far away from the din of the central military area and close to the tranquil terraced paddy fields.

Idle chitchat floated around the happy couple. Each had a hand around the smaller one belonging to the girl, dressed in a bright purple komon, between them. As their house came within view, the conversation died off. A low, out-of-tune folksong soon filled in the silence.

Tsubo regarded her husband out of the corner of her eyes. There was a look of peace on his tanned features. She laid a hand on her chest where her heart thrummed with his singing, the knot of unease in her stomach becoming undone.

"Does this mean, I can call you _father_ and _mother_?" Aoi suddenly asked. She had not spoken a word at Butsuma's house, preferring to sit quietly between her new parents and observe the proceedings with curious eyes, while maintaining a chary distance from the clan head.

"Of course, my child," Manabu let out a deep chuckle, as he opened the front door. _My child!_ "Do you know what _father_ and _mother_ mean?" He was jesting of course.

"They love and protect me," Aoi replied in an odd tone, oblivious of their stunned looks. "That's what family is for."

* * *

 _ **Let me start by saying thank you for those favourites, follows and reviews. I hope you've all enjoyed the latest installation.**_ _ **Please let me know what you think of this chapter! I have an inkling that Tobirama likes to think he's always calm and collected.**_

 _ **To the guest, Sam: Thank you! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter.**_


	3. Chapter 3

To say Yui was thrilled at Aoi's adoption was a huge understatement.

The sandy-haired woman could barely contain herself when Tsubo had dropped by her sister's house after work to deliver the news, a bashful Aoi in tow. Yui had thrown herself on the redhead, squealing and fawning over her new niece in delight.

Tsubo had to physically extract her sister from Aoi.

With all the fuss Yui made, it seemed rather pointless that she had her little sister swore on their parents' graves that she wouldn't breathe a word about the adoption to anyone outside the immediate family which wasn't much to begin with.

Then again, it wasn't like they were going about hiding it either, and it wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together. There were the neighbours living on the same street as they, and quite a few had seen Aoi with her today. It wouldn't be long until people started lining up (in an exaggerated but likely scenario) to pester her and her husband about their daughter.

" _Let them draw their own conclusions," a defiant Manabu had crowed. "If they're that bothered, they'll come poking their noses in without your invitation."_

It was only inevitable.

…

The temperatures were mild for the end of October. The doors were thrown open to fill the room with cool air and natural light. There were tea, biscuits and sweets to celebrate the occasion, and Yui had taken out her best tableware.

The sisters and Aoi were not alone in the house.

The brothers were separated by a one-year age gap and very close. Thirteen years old and the eldest, Tetsuo had inherited his mother's sandy-brown hair. Meanwhile, Hideo's was midnight blue and he towered over his brother by several inches.

They shared many similarities. Both had Yui's proud nose and sharp chin. Both had the same gangly build and skin tanned from frequent missions and arduous training.

Both had the same grey eyes from their late father that were regarding the tiny figure beside their aunt, wearing a look big-hearted Shinbei had never donned in his lifetime.

Aoi kept her eyes firmly fixed on her clasped hands resting on her lap, if only to stop herself fidgeting under her cousins' piercing stares as their mothers chatted away, oblivious to the unpleasant atmosphere.

She fisted the light green fabric of her clothes, pleased that she need not wear her father's baggy clothes. Though as the minutes dragged on, the komon – one of the few that belonged to her mother and retailored to fit her size – failed in easing her nerves.

She wanted to leave badly but couldn't.

The lively lilt in her mother's voice seemed to have a strong effect on her.

Yui broke off from the conversation at some point, noticing the plate of daifuku in front of Aoi was untouched.

"What's wrong, Aoi-chan? You're not eating. Aren't red bean fillings your favourite?" She briefly shot a look of accusation at her sister, who simply shrugged. "This cannot do. We're family now! You don't have to be shy. Eat, eat!"

Abrupt movements caught the room's attention. Tetsuo and Hideo were on their feet.

"You two going somewhere?" asked Tsubo, as they approached the fusuma behind her and Aoi.

"Training," came the short reply from Tetsuo.

" _Training?_ " The tenor of Yui's voice shifted noticeably. "But you two came back not long ago from doing just that!"

"There's a big escort mission in two days, kaa-san," Hideo inexorably reminded, stepping aside to allow his brother through first. "We can't afford to slack off. The clan is relying on us."

Yui paused in rising halfway from the cushion, caramel eyes reflecting an inner battle. The look went out like a candle as a soft sigh left her lungs. "Be back for dinner, okay?"

There were grunts of acquiescence and the fusuma snapped shut behind the brothers.

Yui plopped down on the cushion, shoulders sagging. She sought something to hold in her hands and hastily grabbed her teacup. "I'm sorry about that. They're not always like this." She uttered the last bit almost to herself.

Tsubo gave her a comforting smile. "You can't always expect the kids to stay the same growing up."

"I know, aneue… I know." Yui's gaze flickered to Aoi, and she mumbled a little petulantly, "Sometimes I wish I have girls."

"Funny. You never were docile."

"Hey!"

Tsubo chuckled good-naturedly at her pouting sister. Her flippant remark worked as Yui's easy-going demeanour slipped back into place and the room resumed a comfortable temperature.

"Tired, Aoi?" asked Tsubo, placing a hand on the crown of red. "Would you like to go home now?" She tenderly caressed the side of her head, feeling Aoi leaning into her touch and moving her head slowly in a nod.

Looking down, Tsubo saw the whites of the little knuckles. She berated herself for not noticing earlier. The sudden departure of her newly acquainted cousins seemed to have rattled more than a few nerves.

…

It was dark outside when they were seen off at her aunt's front door. Aoi carried a box of her daifuku in her arms, as her mother needed both hands.

"Do come back for a visit soon," implored Yui.

"It's not like we can escape each other here," said Tsubo, one hand resting casually on Aoi's shoulder, the other holding a lantern.

"But you're always busy with work," Yui pointed out, grumpily.

"There's not much I can do about that." When her sister continued to sulk, Tsubo resignedly added, "I won't make promises, but I'll try."

Yui didn't like it. Still, it was better than nothing. "And take Aoi-chan with you."

Tsubo's laugh was a little strained. "Of course."

Turning around, she sent an encouraging smile at Yui and started down the road until her sister became a lonely silhouette lingering at the doorway.

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains. The twilight sky was illuminated by a few stubborn rays of light, throwing a blanket of striking pink-blue across the endless canvas.

"Your father will be home soon. What shall we have for dinner tonight?"

Silence met her musings.

Tsubo bit the inside of her mouth. She hadn't expected her nephews to react coldly to Aoi's adoption.

At the same time, part of her wasn't surprised.

She'd watched them grow up a very proud bunch, training vigorously so that one day they could be like their shinobi parents they idolised. She remembered the rowdy, ludic boys who often paid their aunt and uncle random visits. Manabu used to jokingly ask if they were monkeys wearing human skins for their penchant for mischiefs.

That all changed five years ago.

Shinbei was a well-respected man, almost everyone in the clan had attended his funeral after he'd lost a long battle with typhoid fever. A week later, Yui had accepted a job offer to work at the winery down the road from her house.

It was around that time that Tetsuo and Hideo were regularly away from the valley for missions.

Tsubo remembered the boys at Shinbei's funeral well. They had silently stood side by side, not offering a consoling word to their grieving mother, as the wooden coffin disappeared beneath mounds and mounds of earth.

Were they watching something else of theirs being buried along with their father?

Tsubo squeezed the little hand in her grasp, sending silent comforts even as the weight in her heart grew, praying her nephews would gradually warm up to their cousin with time.

* * *

"Stay close to me, alright?"

Aoi had no qualms in obliging. She eagerly grabbed the proffered hand and pressed herself against Tsubo.

The pleasant sound of her mother's laugh met her ears. "Not like that, silly. You'll trip both of us."

Blushing deeply, Aoi backed away two hesitant steps, still clinging to her mother's hand.

"That's good enough. Are you ready?"

 _No._

Aoi nodded anyways.

She dreaded the trek across the paddy fields to Genta's house. Why couldn't the doctor live closer? Preferably next door.

She forced her feet to move one after the other, trailing behind but close enough she could breathe in her mother's mellow scent. This was her second outing in broad daylight. The first had her bolting back to the house and they had not taken more than five steps from the front door.

"You'll get used to it," Tsubo tried to assure her in a low voice, as several pairs of eyes swivelled to them – specifically down at a sceptical redhead. "And keep an eye on the ground lest you want to trip."

Aoi looked down just in time to skip over a rock embedded in the dirt. Glancing over her shoulder, she realised it was the exact same spot where she'd planted her face on the ground yesterday. Heat rose to her cheeks at the vivid memory, and she paid extra attention to anything on the ground, be that rock, stick or leaf.

They hadn't been walking for long before the calm air around them strengthened into a gentle breeze, throwing her red tresses in disarray.

They had emerged into open land. The paddy fields echoed with the crisp rustlings of rice stalks bending in the breeze and idle chatters of farmers moving about in the golden carpet.

Aoi longed to look around thoroughly as they ascended a well-trodden path up a hillslope, not hide behind her locks.

Her mother would greet the other pedestrians, answering their curiosities with calm and amiable words, their voices mixing in the whispers of rice harvests. Aoi ignored them, resolutely looking the other way as they drilled holes into her freckled face. There was no animosity in their gazes, but she couldn't help finding their weird fixation unsettling.

They were stopped several times on the way to Genta's house, each time someone came up to her mother, it looked less likely that they'd arrive at their destination.

At long last, her mother tugged at her hand and said, "We're almost there, Aoi. Look."

A wave of relief washed over the girl at the sight of the small house perched on top of a hill.

The doctor was lounging on his porch, a fine column of smoke rising from the pipe in his mouth. "You're finally here," he greeted them with a rasp, as they approached. "What took you so long?"

Tsubo arched a brow. "Stopped by the store to pick up the herbs you want."

Genta grunted something incoherent as he stood up from his perch and extinguished his pipe. He waved an invitation for Tsubo and Aoi to enter his home.

"Put them by the hearth," he instructed. "We're going to need most of them today, so you can start unpacking them. The list is on the table. And you –" A kettle was pushed into Aoi's arms "—fill that up with water from the barrel out back."

Without bothering for a response, he lumbered towards a cabinet, leaving the redhead at a loss.

Aoi had done this several times at home, she felt confident enough. Still, she looked to her mother for direction. At the encouraging nod, she started towards the direction the old man had pointed out.

A hotchpotch of Genta's possessions was crammed into the house, and Aoi had to tiptoe around stacks of medical journals and earthen pots as tall as her on her way to the back door. The only object that didn't look as if a strong gust of wind had ripped through the house was the bookshelf packed to the brim with patients' records.

A fire was smouldering in the hearth upon Aoi's return. Saucers containing an assortment of herbs and a brass scale, which Genta was using to measure a clump of roots, laid around the fire. Her mother had donned a long apron and was using a stone pestle to grind a thick concoction of sickly yellow that caused Aoi's stomach to make a familiar churn.

"The kettle, girl."

Aoi tore her eyes from the grisly image and handed the kettle over to Genta who hooked it up over the fire. She stood there, wondering if there were more demands but he simply waved her off.

She wandered over to the porch and perched on the edge. Her mother dropped by minutes later, carrying a cup of freshly brewed chrysanthemum tea for her. It was sweetened with honey, and Aoi savoured the subtle flavour as she surveyed the picturesque scenery.

It was premature to judge as she had yet seen her new home in its entirety, but Genta's house was admittedly the best despite the chaos inside, if not for the view. His porch offered a sweeping panorama of the paddy fields, the bamboo forest shielding her house from view, and the distant mountains beyond the valley.

Farmers lurked between the rice stalks below. Someone was singing. _"Harvest folksong,"_ her mother had told her yesterday. The pentatonic melody and the crooning man's voice floating to the porch – the honeyed tea and the gentle breeze caressing her skin – seemed to ease her mind.

"How is the girl settling in?" Genta suddenly asked. He was crouching in front his medicine cabinetry and didn't look up.

"Good," Tsubo responded, skirting the issue around her nephews, as she poured a measured amount of powdered medicine into an envelope. "Though Aoi refuses to sleep on her own, and we spent days clearing and dusting the spare room for her. Was it a mistake to let her sleep with my husband and me?"

"Give her time. She'll be wanting her own space."

Tsubo bit back a sigh.

 _Time._

It seemed like the sole solution to many of their problems.

* * *

As they prepared to set off, the old man surprised them by presenting a straw hat to Aoi.

"You won't need it as often now," Genta said. "But with winter approaching, I'm not going to waste precious ingredients on something that can be easily prevented."

The sky had been clear yesterday; near the end of their rounds, the redhead had complained of stinging and showed a sunburnt face to an alarmed Tsubo. The sun remained strong in the valley even in late October, sensitive skin like Aoi's were still susceptible to prolonged exposure.

Aoi adjusted the hat a little. It fitted her perfectly.

Tsubo stooped down to knot the straps under her chin. "I was going to craft one for her soon because my husband's and mine are too big." She straightened and bowed to Genta. "Thank you, sensei. Say thank you, Aoi."

The girl peered at him beneath the hat's brim. "Thank you."

"Small favours," Genta shrugged nonchalantly. Being a doctor had their benefits. People were willing to help.

…

Their first stop was a couple who worked in the paddy fields. A distraction and an unsteady grip on a sickle ended in a mishap.

Genta had permitted Aoi to observe quietly or wait at the porch while he and Tsubo tended to their patient. The girl sat beside an anxious husband, watching intently as the bindings around the patient's left foot unravelled under her mother's careful hands.

The dressings fell in a heap on the floor.

A glimpse of the wound and Aoi suddenly felt hot.

Tsubo watched her daughter make a beeline to the porch with a trace of concern. She turned back to the patient. "I'm sorry about that. My daughter didn't mean to be rude."

"It's alright," the woman let out a laboured chuckle as Genta examined her wound, wincing when his prodding finger touched a particularly tender area. "My husband wasn't better. He actually fainted at the blood yesterday."

"F-Fumi!"

Aoi sat by herself on the porch, inhaling deep and calming breaths, soaking in the autumn breeze as it cooled her flushed body. Before long, her nausea had subsided.

A shaky sigh escaped her, which turned into a stifled yelp when water and a plate of brownish-orange dried fruits were set on the ground beside her.

The dark man cast her an apologetic smile. "Aoi-chan… right? Help yourself to the apricots. They're good for you."

Aoi's gaze flickered from the farmer to the plate uncertainly. She glanced at her mother and Genta. There were two plates filled with the dried apricots waiting for them.

"Thank you," she murmured timidly to the dark man.

His smile widened, deepening the lines around the kind eyes, and moved back to his wife with a tray under his arm.

Aoi picked up a dried apricot, studied it for a few moments before bringing it to her lips.

The first bite was bland. After a moment of hesitation, she tore a small piece and chewed, allowing her saliva to coat the apricot. A mildly sweet flavour flooded her mouth. She wriggled her toes and took another eager bite.

…

The farmers, the elderly and infirm, those who couldn't travel the distance across the paddy fields to the infirmary in the central area, it was Genta's main duty to provide health care to these people.

Her mother had said.

Aoi learned that there were times the doctor didn't have to look at anything. He'd chat, ask a few questions, and prescribe medicines. Sometimes, the patients were not given anything at all.

They visited three more houses before stopping for lunch at noon.

Aoi and her mother rested under the shade of a yellowing plum tree overlooking the paddy fields. They shared a lunchbox of onigiri and apples between them.

Genta stood at the roadside, puffing smoke into the air. He didn't eat much, saved for a steamed pork bun.

There were more people milling around, farmers on their lunchbreak. Most stopped briefly to chat with the old man, and every so often, someone would approach the plum tree.

Aoi pulled the brim of her straw hat over her eyes, focusing on her onigiri while her mother returned the friendly greetings. She could barely taste her lunch, feeling their eyes always straying to her.

* * *

Their last stop of the day was a stately home belonging to an elderly woman with arthritis and a failing hearing in one ear.

The house was tucked far away from the paddy fields, guarded by high stone walls and a forest with canopies soaring high into the late afternoon sky. It was the only house as far as Aoi could see.

Her mother had told her a few things about the old woman beforehand.

Descended from a long line of scholars and scribes, Miyako was an important figure in the Senju clan. She'd travelled far and wide across lands, venturing into places no Senju shinobi had ever stepped foot. And by herself for fifty-five years, no less. Until two years ago, she had scarcely returned to her homeland, for reasons nobody dared to ask.

They were invited into her study. Bookshelves lined the walls, carrying an impressive collection of books and scrolls stacked up to the ceiling. There were ornaments and bizarre instruments Aoi had never seen on some shelves.

Miyako sat across from them, reclining against an armrest. She had fair skin that was remarkably smooth, aside from the tell-tale lines around her piercing brown eyes. Her glossy silver hair was pulled back into a bun, held together by a wooden comb. The way her head turned at a slight angle as she talked to Genta and Tsubo, the way she held herself, this old woman exuded a dignified air.

Aoi found it hard to believe she was seventy-two.

"So," Miyako's voice was clear as a bell, "this is the child you've been telling me, Genta?"

"Ah."

Her eyes darted to Tsubo. "You adopted her." It was a statement.

"Yes, Miyako-sama," Aoi's mother replied with a subdued nod, grateful when Miyako didn't press any further. Frankly, she was tired from all the questionings.

"What's your name, little girl?"

Aoi jerked with surprise at being addressed. She turned away from eyeing the multitudinous books to the old woman, feeling her cheeks heating up at being caught gawking at her possessions. "A-Aoi," she stammered, lowering head to hide the scarlet skin behind her hair.

Miyako hummed pensively. "Good choice, Tsubo."

…

It was one of those non-physical examination sessions.

Bored of adult conversations, Aoi excused herself and strolled over to the porch outside the study. The forest stood just shy of the stone walls, behind a garden filled with vibrant autumn flowers, it looked like a giant hand had dug up the trees to build this house.

Her bare feet made soft pitter-patters on the wooden strip of walkway as she walked down the length of the porch, which seemed to stretch endlessly around the large house. Rounding a corner, then another, Aoi stumbled upon a room.

The shoji doors were partially opened, allowing the mid-autumn light to warm the interior. She peered inside. The room was minimally decorated with a painting of a jagged mountain, a turquoise vase of brilliant yellow chrysanthemums – all artfully arranged in a raised alcove – and, not surprisingly, a low bookshelf.

Curiosity got the better of her.

Aoi slipped through the gap and padded towards the books. She brushed the spines with tentative fingers, trying to decipher the embossed titles without much success.

Her hand paused at one book, the tip of her fingers grazing a depiction of a spiral shell.

...

"What brings you to my bedroom?"

Aoi shot to her feet with a yelp, nearly dropping the book from her hands in the process. She whirled around, eyes widening at the sight of Miyako at the doorway.

"I-I'm sorry! I d-didn't know it's your b-bedroom." Aoi shuffled back into the bookshelf behind her when the old woman stepped into the room. She thrust the book out, stopping Miyako in her steps.

Miyako gave the cover a cursory glance. "Can you read?" she asked.

Aoi cautiously raised her head from between her outstretched arms enough to peek at her in puzzlement. There didn't seem to be any traces of ire or contempt on Miyako.

"Not very well," the girl admitted, straightening her back and lowering her arms. "There are words that I don't know or understand."

"How about write?"

Aoi shook her head, growing self-conscious at her confessions.

Miyako lapsed into a pensive, studying the redhead squirming in discomfort under her scrutiny.

"Would you like to learn?"

Aoi's head shot up with astonishment. For a moment, Miyako saw a gleam of yearning in the bright azure eyes before the look faded.

"Will I know what the man is looking for?"

Miyako's eyes fluttered to a close, shutting away the nostalgia. "That all depends on you, child."

Frantic footsteps charged down the porch, causing them to glance over the doorway.

Her mother skidded to a halt in front of the bedroom and let out a gasp. "Aoi! What are you doing here?" she demanded, marching up to the redhead. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Aoi lowered her gaze remorsefully. "I'm sorry… okaa-chan."

Miyako lifted a hand when Tsubo was about to open her mouth. "She has apologised. To you, and me earlier. There is no need to reprimand a child who has done nothing wrong, Tsubo."

Tsubo glanced at Aoi. The sight of her daughter close to tears seemed to quell the fire in her.

Miyako observed the two. Praying this wouldn't end with regrets, she turned to the mother. "Tsubo, if you've calmed down, I have an interesting proposition if you like to hear."

* * *

Patches of clouds dotted a periwinkle sky as mother and daughter made their way back home through the forest behind Miyako's house. Genta had parted from them outside her house.

The light in the forest was sufficient, and Tsubo was familiar with the route. Nevertheless, Aoi stuck close to her mother, hugging the book with the spiral shell logo while holding onto her mother's hand.

She felt giddy with excitement. Her mother had forgiven her – even permitting her to learn how to read and write!

" _I've always wanted to hire someone to help me clean the house," Miyako had said. "Consider it an exchange."_

Aoi couldn't wait.

They had been walking for about fifteen minutes when the first line of the bamboo forest came within sight. The central area, her home, was not too far now.

It started out faint, growing in volume as they moved closer to the bamboos. To their far left, a group of children was heading to the central area from a different direction. The forest was filled with their rambunctious voices as they laughed and cracked jokes.

Aoi eyed them curiously. They couldn't be much older than her, and some were wearing something familiar over their clothes. Someone at the back of the group faltered and glanced in their direction, causing her to hastily looked away.

She pulled on her mother's hand and pointed discreetly at the group. "Why are they wearing armours like otou-chan?" she asked. "Where's mine?"

Her mother froze, bringing them to a standstill. The sound of the children's laugh echoed around them.

"Okaa-chan?"

Her mother dropped down to her eye-level. The face before Aoi had taken a disturbing pallor as hands reached out to clasp her small shoulders.

"Listen closely to me, Aoi," Tsubo began. "You don't need those. As long as there's breath in my body, you will not wear them – and I pray to the heavens, you shall _never_ need them."

"Why?" Aoi couldn't help but ask.

The grip on her shoulders tightened.

"You'll get hurt," her mother whispered.

* * *

Ever since that day, he couldn't get it out of his mind.

Ever since that day, he had devoted his free time to familiarise himself with her foreign chakra.

Living in a valley filled with Senju, their chakra easily drowned out her unique signature, he had initially struggled to track her down. Today, he was lucky to catch her on a break from shadowing her mother and the doctor with the acrid tobacco stench.

The redhead sat with her back against the trunk of a magnolia tree, knees drawn to her chest, a book clutched in her hands.

Earlier, he had caught a glimpse of the cover. It still surprised him that she was reading the book. It was the first of a series of an epic he was pursuing.

A frustrated sigh escaped her. Her face was scrunched up in a glare. Had he not 'learned' of her limited grasp in kanji, he would have a serious problem figuring out why the girl looked as if the text offended her.

As she turned to the next page, Tobirama reassessed himself while concealed in his hiding place.

Spending the better of his free time spying on a girl… if Hashirama was here, he wouldn't hear the end of it.

But he wasn't.

Tobirama wasn't here to fool around.

He remembered his mother explicitly ordered Hashirama not to bother the new family while the girl settled in after breaking the news of her adoption. Tobirama wasn't sure what to make of it. So long as the girl posed no threat to the clan, she could do whatever.

He'd seen her with her mother at the bamboo forest. She looked harmless. He'd had quickly sensed her chakra out of curiosity and it had bothered him since.

Tobirama studied her from his vantage point of view, eyes immediately drawn to her hair. The shock of red stood out even amidst the autumn colours around them. _'Carrot. Not pumpkin.'_

He shook his head feverishly to rid the vivid colour from his vision and refocused on her chakra. No longer did it feel foreign to him, he unhesitatingly dove deeper.

Her chakra pathway was like a deep river and he was swimming within its depths in darkness, blindly searching until his groping hands felt it.

It wavered in and out of existence, like a rippling shadow cast by a flickering candlelight before disappearing completely from his senses. No matter how many times he searched, there was only a desolate landscape at the bottom of the river.

Tobirama pulled back, numbed with confusion.

Maybe he was wrong. Or he was going about it the wrong way. He was still far, _far_ behind his mother's skill in sensing chakra. Whatever _it_ was, might as well didn't exist at all. There was nothing out of ordinary about the girl.

Tobirama abandoned his post, landing softly on the ground. He shifted around and a snap cut through the air, reeling his mind back to the present.

"W-who's there?" a startled voice asked.

Cursing his carelessness, he quickly lifted his foot from a broken twig. But it was too late.

The girl had stepped around the tree, holding the book to her chest and blinking owlishly at him.

Hashirama didn't do her justice, Tobirama realised.

The fair complexion, hair reminiscent of carrots and pumpkins framing her round face, and even those freckles seemed to augment the startling blue of her eyes. It was like staring into an abyss, he missed the look of recognition rippling across the surface.

"Umm, can I help you with something?"

Tobirama flinched back at her voice, his mouth popping open. "A-ah –"

" _Aoi_."

Tobirama didn't notice the small distance between them until he started counting the freckles on her button nose. He backpedalled from the bemused redhead until he could breathe his own air.

"Are you sick?" she asked, elucidating each syllable as though she was talking to one of Genta's patients with poor hearings. "I can fetch my mother if you wait."

"I don't –" he started.

She tilted her head, regarding him with naïve curiosity.

 _Those damn blue eyes._

"I mean – I – You're weird."

* * *

 _ **So Tobirama finally meets Aoi.**_

 _ **This chapter was updated late because I was distracted by chapter 4 - haha. The next chapter is complete. Just needs editing. But it'll probably be posted two weeks later like this chapter since I'll be continuing chapter 5. I'm not sure if this will become my update frequency.**_

 _ **Thank you to those who fav'd and followed Hollyhock! See you next chapter ~**_


	4. Chapter 4

"Do you have everything?"

For the umpteenth time, Aoi checked the contents of her bag. Miyako's book, some loose papers and two stubs of charcoal.

"They're all here," she informed her aunt, pulling the cloth strap over her head so that it laid diagonally on her chest.

Her lessons had started last week.

Aoi quickly learnt that Miyako was stern and not easily pleased. The old scholar was also somewhat sly, dropping hints of new subjects if she showed enough interests, willingness and capacity to learn. It seemed daunting. But the redhead was spurred, determined not disappoint her teacher and her supportive parents.

Turning around in the entryway, Aoi bowed at her aunt. "Thank you for the hospitality, oba-chan."

"Anytime, Aoi-chan," the sandy-haired woman grinned. "You're welcomed to visit my home anytime you like! It's a shame they can't extend the herb foraging to a couple more days. Or _just_ one more!"

Yui's sister was put on a team to stock up medicinal herbs for the upcoming winter. Tsubo had been dropping Aoi off at hers when Manabu couldn't get a day off, or her niece didn't have lessons at the eccentric old woman's house. Yui was fortunate her employer was kind enough to allow her niece to hang out at the winery while she worked.

By 'hang out', she meant reading that book of hers for hours.

It wasn't as if she was against education. She'd heard all kinds of rumours about Miyako, and it would pain her if Aoi ended up a recluse.

Shoving the qualms aside, Yui asked, "Are you sure you don't want me to take you home?"

Aoi politely declined. "I know my way now."

"If you're sure," Yui reluctantly acquiesced. She drew the girl into a strong embrace. "Promise me you'll be careful on your back."

"I-I will," Aoi choked out, relieved when her aunt released her. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought the sandy-haired woman was trying to suffocate her. Her aunt was melodramatic at best.

An image of an older boy with hair resembling a black mushroom cap popped up in her mind. _What happened to him?_

Aoi picked up a box from the tatami, grateful she'd placed it down to put on her slippers. She doubted the mochi would survive her aunt's bone-breaking hug. "Thanks for the gift."

"You don't have to thank me," Yui chuckled, leaning over the threshold to ruffle her hair adoringly. "Let your aunt spoil her cute niece."

Aoi turned scarlet at the gesture.

Muttering a swift farewell, she scurried out the opened door, nearly bumping into one of her aunt's neighbour on the street outside. She stepped around the startled woman with a sputtered apology and jogged down the street, a vivid blush dusting her freckled cheeks.

When her aunt's house was far behind, Aoi slowed down to a brisk walk. She moved with a resolute gait, keeping her head low while uttering a simple _'hello'_ to the odd people she passed on the street.

Her aunt's neighbours returned the greeting, never attempting to kindle a conversation.

Neither did Aoi. Her mother and aunt were not with her. At the end of the day, they were strangers to each other.

It suited her fine.

…

A commotion drew Aoi over to the roadside, where the ground sloped downwards into a field below.

About a dozen children stood in a ring, shouting and cheering enthusiastically. Two boys were facing each other in the centre of the ruckus, each wielding a long wooden stick aloft. The thwack of wood, when the sticks swung down to meet in the air, was sharp and forceful, the sound rang throughout the field, up the slope and resonated in Aoi's bones.

They were not playing.

And those were not mere sticks.

The boys were shinobi-in-training – the kids around them too, judging by their unusual fashion. Possibly qualified like her father. Aoi wasn't sure. She'd never spoken to anyone her age except… except for _that boy._

He who bore uncanny resemblances to the clan matriarch, Kiyohana.

But that's impossible.

He was rude, and Aoi didn't like him.

 _Strange_.

For a figment of her imagination (he'd flickered out of existence in a whirl of leaves), his last words really stung her.

"Look what we have here. It's the freak of nature," a voice drawled, freezing Aoi in her steps as she was about to turn away from the swordfight.

Someone cackled. "I heard the typhoon spat her out. Even nature doesn't want anything to do with her."

Two large shadows loomed over Aoi's petrified form. Warily, she turned around and peered up at them, trepidation gripping her hammering heart. At close quarters, her cousins were like a pair of intimidating armoured giants.

 _Why?_

They shouldn't be back from their week-long mission until the day after. Her mother was certain. She'd promised. Aoi wouldn't agree to stay with her aunt if otherwise.

Glancing at the field below, Tetsuo raised a contemptuous eyebrow at her. "Oi, Oi. You're not thinking of becoming a shinobi, aren't you?"

The thought never crossed her mind. Aoi shook her head frantically, regardless.

"The Senju clan is filled with _strong and brave_ men," gloated Hideo, arms crossed over his chest. He regarded his so-called cousin with undisguised contempt. "We don't need someone weak and mousy who hides behind her mother like _you_ around. You're just a waste of breathing space, another mouth to feed. The clan head must be getting soft if he decided not to throw you out the first chance he had."

Aoi grimaced at the resounding smack.

"OW! Why did you hit my head for!?"

"Shut up! Do you want to get us into trouble?" hissed Tetsuo, eyes darting to the field below. Ignoring his brother's withering look, the eldest glowered at Aoi. "Stay away from our house, you hear?"

Aoi bowed her head in a submissive gesture and nodded. She heard a snort, then the clattering of armours and heavy retreating footsteps.

"Sheesh, can't stand her ugly freckles and wacky hair."

"Vermin."

"Leech."

…

Aoi was lost.

She hadn't been paying attention to where she was going or how long she'd been walking for. Though it must be long enough that the sky had turned from pink to a rich shade of blue.

She was standing in what seemed to be a square, filled with the comings and goings of people – _shinobi_ , judging by their outfits and the standard armours. Utilitarian buildings flanked the square on each side, their overhangs decorated with paper lanterns, wooden signboards nailed over the heavy-looking doors through which someone would occasionally enter or exit.

Aoi leapt back from a man's path in time to avoid being trampled, back hitting the wall of a stone building. He strode past without a glance back, as if she didn't exist. Nobody spared the little girl a glance.

The sky was growing darker, the temperature dropping each minute. The lanterns were lit, throwing an eerie glow over the square. Cold air seeped through the thin fabric of her clothes, permeating and spreading across her skin. Aoi hugged the mochi box to her chest in a vain effort to keep warm.

Despite the hour, the number of people around her was strangely growing. Groups of threes and fours were arriving from random directions, the flow never appeared to cease. And with it, the rising cacophony filling the square.

Disorientated, Aoi listlessly watched the blurry swarm of humans swimming in her vision, unaware of the passage of time and the existence of a door beside her swinging back on its hinges.

A girl in her late teens stepped out from the building, her eyes instantly falling upon Aoi. Specifically, the red locks spilling down to the hips. She gasped loudly, alerting the redhead to her presence.

"You must be _her_ – I mean you're _you._ But – whatever. Don't move, okay? I'll be right back!"

The teenager disappeared back into the building. Before Aoi could recover from the shock, the older girl had re-emerged, dragging her exasperated-looking friend along.

"See? Told you I wasn't lying, Natsu-chan," the first girl smirked at the look of astonishment adorning her friend's features.

Natsu narrowed her eyes in an irate scowl. "For once, Ryoko. For once."

Ryoko merely shrugged. "Do you think she's lost?"

Natsu looked uncertain. "We should ask."

Aoi had been following their conversation with mounting dread, and shied away from the approaching girls, arms tightening around the mochi's box for comfort.

"Hello, there. Are you lost?"

"We can take you home! It won't be a problem. We know where your house is."

Despite herself, Aoi shook her head vigorously.

"This is a problem," Natsu lamented, drawing an impatient huff from Ryoko.

"Really now. You don't have to be shy!"

By now, the three of them had garnered attention. The closest passers-by slowed down to look their way, their probing eyes automatically zeroing on the redhead.

Nobody made a move to intervene.

Aoi felt trapped, helpless. Pinned between the two older girls and the wall, like a helpless animal in a den of hungry predators. She glanced around, searching frantically for a way out of this.

Over the clamour, _his voice_ reached her ears.

" _Aoi?"_

Relief flooded the redhead.

There he was on the steps of the adjacent building, squinting at her as though he couldn't believe his eyes. Aoi saw him exchanged a few quick words with the three men hovering behind his shoulders, and he was at her side in six long strides.

"It is you!" Manabu blinked owlishly down at his daughter. Suddenly remembering their presences, he turned to the two teenagers. "Thank you, Natsu. Ryoko. I'll take it from here."

The older girls couldn't hide their disappointment from their faces, as they reluctantly walked away.

 _Thank you?_

They hadn't exactly done anything praise-worthy in Aoi's eyes.

Manabu got down on one knee to assess his daughter. Apart from appearing shaken, there was no sign of visible injuries to cause him great worry.

He drew a heavy sigh.

Finding Aoi at the mission administrative centre, the heart of the valley's military area, when he'd just gotten back from border patrol was the last thing on his mind.

"You've gotten lost, didn't you?"

Aoi's gaze flitted to him, then her feet. She gave a meek nod, the look on her face silently expressing her apologies.

His hand reached out.

Aoi braced herself.

Just as she thought he was about to scold her – or punish her like Tetsuo did to Hideo – his fingers gently brushed the corner of her eyes, wiping away the tears that were on the verge of spilling.

Manabu's lips curled into a smile. "Well, you're lucky you've bumped into me. Come, let's go home."

…

Catching sight of the two figures coming up the street, Tsubo gasped in relief. She ran towards them as much as her komon allowed, her lantern swinging madly in her hand.

"Anata!Aoi!"

Holding onto Aoi's hand, Manabu brought them to a stop as his wife caught up.

The thin film of perspiration on Tsubo's forehead glistened in the amber glow of their lanterns. Her breathing was shallow and strained as if she'd been running.

Not from earlier. No.

Manabu could easily guess what had transpired. His wife arrived home to find the house empty; Aoi not in the back garden or the street outside their house; Aoi already left Yui's house more than an hour ago; Aoi not at Miyako's, or Genta's; Aoi still not at home when she returned.

Whatever apprehension she held onto disappeared the moment Tsubo laid eyes on their daughter from afar.

Aoi stood awkwardly under her mother's scrutiny, soaking in the comfort of her father's presence. There was the barest of a squeeze on her hand, and she briefly hesitated before peering up at her mother's lined face.

"I'm sorry, okaa-chan."

The lantern was cast aside.

Dropping to her knees, Tsubo pulled an astonished Aoi into her arms and nuzzled her cheek against her daughter's. "As long as you're home safely," she whispered, "that's what matters most to me."

Aoi breathed in her mother's scent. It was the same as her father's, only fainter. A mixture of sweat, earth – and something she couldn't pinpoint, yet oddly comforting.

She felt the warmth of her father's hand caressing the back of her head, and the unshed tears finally broke free, rolling down her freckled cheeks.

Aoi hugged her mother back. Relishing in her parents' love, she wondered what it meant to be a Senju.

* * *

"Let's take a break. You're not focusing," the matter-of-fact voice cut through the silence.

Aoi brought the brush to an abrupt halt. "I'm sorry."

"Go air your head in the garden." Miyako returned her gaze to peruse her scroll. "Come back when you're ready."

Throwing a sullen glance at the paper in front of her, Aoi laid down her brush on its rest in defeat. She staggered to her feet, her legs sore and numb from sitting for a long period despite the cushion, and dragged herself out the study, unable to meet her teacher's eyes.

Autumn flowers wrapped Aoi in a thick floral scent, but she couldn't muster the strength to appreciate the garden's beauty.

It was like walking through a thick fog.

There was no sense of what was right from left.

Today was her first calligraphy lesson. Already, the lack of progress frustrated her. Compared to Miyako's sharp and graceful brushstrokes, hers looked like someone had vomited black ink all over the paper. Aoi didn't want to use charcoal sticks to write for the rest of her life. The very idea was pathetic.

Was Miyako regretting her offer? Would she stop the lessons, _throw her out_ her house if Aoi refused, begged and continued to clean for her, hoping she'd change her mind?

Aoi's feet paused at the edge of the garden's pond. The water was clear and tranquil on this fine day. A despondent girl stared back. Blue eyes, long red tresses with a touch of fiery orange in the afternoon light, a frown adorning her freckled face as she – _they_ – eyed each other's hair in distaste.

Something nasty bubbled inside her.

Aoi sharply turned away from the pond before it'd consume her, gripping the skirt of her light blue komon tensely. She shook her head and was about to head back when something caught her eyes.

She glanced down at her arms and gasped in alarm.

She'd been wearing a _tasuki_ to bind the sleeves of her komon above her elbows, out of worry of smudging the long sleeves while she wrote.

It worked too well.

Aoi twisted her arms as much as possible, straining to see the extent of the black splotches staining her skin. There wasn't anything on her person to clean them up; she'd left her handkerchief in the study. She tried to wipe it off with her hands and ended up staining them too.

Great, now she's giving Miyako reasons to laugh at her. Not like she'd ever seen the old woman cracked a smile.

Aoi wasn't looking forward to parading into the study looking as she was. Perhaps her teacher had seen them and kept quiet. The mere thought sent heat rising to her cheeks.

Miserable, Aoi stared at her hands. She needed to wash the ink pronto before they –

The train of thoughts broke off as an idea hit her.

…

Manabu warily slipped through the door, the recent incident fresh in his mind. At the sight of a pair of child-sized straw slippers, however, he completely relaxed and shut the door behind him.

"I'm home. Someone left the front door opened."

He glanced around, puzzled at the lack of response, as he stripped off his armours.

Cushions were already laid out around a crackling hearth. His wife was out in the backyard, judging by the strong aroma, grilling fishes for dinner.

There was light coming from the master bedroom, pouring out through a thin crack in the door. Manabu could make out a small silhouette moving slightly behind the delicate paper screen.

Puzzled, he abandoned his sword at the entryway, tip-toed towards the bedroom and peered through the gap.

Aoi was hunched over Tsubo's mirror. Her back faced him, obscuring his view of the mirror's reflection and the objects at her knees. Utterly focused on whatever she was doing, she failed to notice the door gliding open and her father entering the bedroom.

"What are you doing, Aoi?"

Aoi snapped her head up at his voice. "Oh, otou-chan. Welcome home," she greeted, leaning back to sit on her heels.

Manabu glanced down and felt the blood draining from his face. He pivoted on his heels. He half-stumbled, half-scrambled in his haste to reach the door.

"Tsu-Tsubo! Come quick! _Quick!_ " he yelled.

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Geez, there's no need to scream the roof down." Tsubo appeared at the doorway looking extremely peeved. "What is it?"

Manabu mutely pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

Arching an eyebrow, Tsubo peered around him. Her mouth fell open with an earth-shattering shriek that easily rivalled her husband's.

She shoved past him. "Aoi! What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, taking in the incredulous scene.

Aoi calmly looked from the pool of ink in her hands to the black stains on her hair, and back to her dumbfounded parents.

"Dyeing my hair," she said, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"That's not the main problem!" In one swift motion, Tsubo snatched a towel from a hook and grabbed Aoi's wrist. " _Come_ , we're going to the bathhouse right this instant."

"But, okaa-chan," Aoi started to protest as she was pulled to her feet.

"No buts young lady! And _you_!" A pair of blazing caramel eyes swivelled towards Manabu. "Make sure dinner isn't burnt, or I'll grill _you_ instead."

Armed with a towel and a bar of soap, Tsubo stormed out of the bedroom, dragging a resigned Aoi after her. The front door shut with a resounding snap that seemed to shake the house to its foundation.

Manabu lowered his eyes to the items – a cup of water, a black inkstick and an inkstone – in front of the mirror.

He stooped down to pick up his old inkstone, a wedding gift from his late parents. Fresh ink had gathered in a thick obsidian pool at the bottom of the reservoir. He barely used the inkstone, except for the few letters to the frontlines in the past. He preferred writing up his reports at the administrative centre.

Manabu rubbed the bridge of his nose, tiredness creeping up in the form of a blooming headache.

Put _Aoi attempting to dye her hair with ink_ on top of the list of things he shouldn't expect to find coming home from work.

* * *

"I just need to pick up a few things for your mother. Won't be gone for long."

"Okay."

"Don't do anything funny, understand?"

"Yes."

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

"Safe journey."

Aoi was imperturbable despite his stern tone.

She tilted her head quizzically, batting her azure eyes at her father when he hadn't moved from the doorway after a minute of staring.

Manabu cast his daughter one last wary look before shutting the front door. He listened to the soft footfalls making their way to the porch where Aoi liked to read. He lingered outside, straining his ears for suspicious sounds. There wasn't any. He was worrying too much.

He'd meant to spend his day off with his family, but Tsubo was called out to assist Genta in an emergency surgery. And they had run out of rice.

Manabu took to the roofs, instead of walking to his destination, and arrived outside the warehouse with six minutes to spare.

There was no queue outside the door. The public access room was empty, barely big enough to fit one adult, a desk in the corner, and the bearded man wearing a permanent scowl.

Perching his hands on the edge, Manabu leaned over the desk. "Rice and flour, please. And, add a new child's portion to the monthly quota."

The warehouse supervisor looked up from his ledger, clearly displeased by the interruption and Manabu's terse manners. His scowl had deepened, the bushy brows appeared to merge into one. He snapped the ledger shut and wordlessly disappeared behind the curtain concealing a door behind the desk.

Manabu drummed his fingers on the wooden surface, growing irritated as the minutes ticked by.

The curtain flapped when the supervisor reappeared, carrying two bulging sacks. He heaved them onto the desk and pulled out a battered-looking logbook while reaching for his brush. He started to thumb through the thick pages, mumbling to himself.

Manabu resisted the urge to snatch the book away.

The supervisor controlled the day-to-day movement of provisions leaving and entering the cavernous warehouse hidden behind the curtain. Tick him off and he'd slash their monthly allowance without remorse.

"Here we go," the gravelly voice finally said. He scribbled something on a worn-out page before flipping the book around on the desk. "This line over here. Under you and your wife's names."

Manabu hastily crossed off his house designation, swiped the sacks off the desk and bolted out the room.

"Wait, Manabu! You're supposed to sign it too!"

"Sorry! Gotta' go. Be back tomorrow!"

By the time Manabu returned home, he was wheezing and out of breath from sprinting across one end of the central area to the next – _twice._

"I'm getting too old for this. Maybe it's about time I retire and work in the paddy fields," he chuckled wryly, knowing it wouldn't happen anytime soon.

Aoi's chakra indicated she was still at the porch.

Manabu glanced at his full arms and decided to enter the house via the porch. True to his judgment, his daughter was there when he rounded the corner.

Relief was just about to set in when he caught a glimpse of metal in her hands. He dropped the sacks on the ground and lurched forward, snatching the pair of scissors from Aoi without harming her.

He gaped at her appearance, speechless.

"Welcome home, otou-chan. How was your trip?" her daughter greeted him conversationally, as if she's talking about the weather. As if she wasn't sitting there with half her hair lying in a heap on the floor beside her.

…

"And pray tell, _what_ are you two doing?"

Manabu's clammy hand tightened its grip on the scissors before he could drop it on Aoi.

He flashed an overly-bright grin over his shoulder, hyperconscious of his voice shooting up an octave when he spoke. "Yo, Tsubo! W-welcome home!"

"Welcome home, okaa-chan," Aoi chirruped.

"Yes…" Tsubo narrowed her eyes at her ashen-faced husband, voice cool and composed. "Welcome home indeed."

…

A pair of scissors gleamed in the light of a lamp as Tsubo moved them expertly through the steadily thinning red tresses, removing the uneven cuts – which were, sadly, a large majority.

"Such shoddy handiwork," she huffed irately. "Looks more like you hacked it off with your kunai. Couldn't you do it properly? It's not like you've never held a pair of scissors in your whole life."

"I'm a shinobi. Not a glorified hairdresser," Manabu grumbled testily, sweeping the red locks onto a cloth as they accumulated on the tatami. "If you must know, Aoi did most of the job herself before I got back. I was damage control."

Tsubo reached out for a stub of hair she'd yet move on to. The tips were jagged, the strands stuck out blatantly at funny angles. And that wasn't the worst offence.

"Damage control," she deadpanned, resuming her work.

Manabu shrugged. "Could be worse."

There wasn't much Tsubo could salvage from their poor attempts. At least it was something she could work on.

By the time the scissors were stowed away in a place a child couldn't reach, Aoi was sporting a bob cut.

She held the mirror aloft to examine her reflection, as her mother ran a comb through her red locks. Her hair now reached down to her chin, framing her round freckled face.

She turned to her father. "How do I look, otou-chan?"

"Hmm… not bad," Manabu bitterly admitted, averting his eyes so he couldn't see the smug look on his wife's face.

…

It was very late by the time dinner was cleared away and the dishes washed.

The family was gathered around the hearth, a fire to keep the autumn chill at bay, cups of green tea to warm their hands. They drank their tea, each ruminating in their own minds.

Tsubo was the first to break the silence.

"What's gotten into you lately, Aoi? First the ink and now…"

Aoi could sense her worried gaze and her father's burning curiosity without looking up from the fire. The flame danced in her eyes, almost shrouding the azure entirely in brilliant amber.

"I hate my hair."

Her parents shared a look of puzzlement at the unapologetically blunt confession.

"Why?" asked Tsubo. "It's such a distinctive colour."

"I don't like it."

" _I_ do. Your father too." Tsubo's eyes gave a subtle twitch at the lack of backup. "It's a lovely warm colour. Reminds you of beautiful autumn sunsets – right, anata?"

Manabu flinched at the sharp jab on his rib. "Oh yeah, sure it does," he coughed.

"It's such a shame though," her mother lamented. "Your hair is something special. It must have taken years for your hair to grow that long."

Manabu sighed at his wife's comment. "There's nothing much we can do about that. It will eventually grow back."

"But I _don't_ want it to grow back! _I_ don't like my hair – it's not lovely at all! And I don't want to be special!" The words flew from her mouth before she realised she was lashing out at her parents. Something in her had snapped.

They stared at her in stunned silence.

Manabu's cup was raised to his lips, frozen in place and on the verge of spilling its hot content onto his lap. Tsubo's eyes had widened comically to an impossible size, there were more whites than caramels.

Neither knew how to react to Aoi's sudden outburst.

Their daughter was always mild-mannered. Some called her skittish. Others, reserved.

She had never worn a storm in her eyes. The look was _electrifying._

She had never raised her voice at them.

Never asserted and opined.

Aoi's throat was dry and itchy from yelling at her loving parents, something she'd never done. Never dreamt it could happen.

Hit with the sudden realisation, she slouched forward in her seat and dropped her gaze, mortified with herself. Her voice was hoarse and thick with emotions when she spoke.

"I don't want this hair. I-It… it's –"

 _It wasn't fair._

Black.

Brown.

Lighter shades – like the platinum of the clan head's wife and the rude boy – leaning towards neutral tones.

Aoi was neither of those. Her red hair was a constant reminder that she was different from the rest of the Senju. From her own parents.

 _It really wasn't fair._

The tears were spilling now. "I want to be like okaa-chan and otou-chan," Aoi blubbered. "Not special."

There was a pause.

"You want to be like us and not special, huh?" Manabu pondered aloud, scratching the stubbles on his chin. "I don't know if I should be flattered by tha – OW!" His hand flew up to cup his ear, red and stinging with pain.

Flashing him a warning look, Tsubo scooted away from her husband to sit beside Aoi.

She studied her daughter's face with an earnest look, tucking a stray lock of red behind an ear. Her feathery touch was tender as her fingers caressed one of the tear-stained cheeks.

"You might not know this, Aoi. A lot of people I know admire your hair. They tell me they'd gladly exchange theirs for ones like yours at the drop of a hat. Take your aunt, for example."

"I don't care."

Unperturbed by her daughter's stubbornness, Tsubo wrapped her arms around the small, trembling frame.

Aoi immediately sunk into the warmth of her mother's bosom, hiccupping through sobs. Her mother started patting her back. The rhythm was slow and methodical, the redhead gradually quietened down, and the flow of tears lessened to a trickle. She stayed in her mother's arms, blinking groggily as if she'd just woken up. She'd never felt this worn out.

"Why does your hair bother you so much?"

Aoi wiped the tears on the back of her hands. "They won't stop staring at me."

Manabu exchanged a meaningful look with his wife over her head. "Did you ask nicely?" he asked, regardless of knowing the outcomes.

"Will it work?"

Manabu hummed in a contemplative manner, long enough the deep sound drew Aoi's full attention to him.

"This is quite complicated," he eventually admitted. "We're talking about people here. _Humans_. Some will comply if you ask politely. Others –" He flapped a hand in a negative. "Put it this way, Aoi. People are like rivers. They don't change easily, and certainly not overnight."

Aoi's eyes glimmered. Not with tears, but awe. "Rivers can change?"

"That's right," her father nodded sagely. "Rivers change their courses through the landscape, among other things they can do. You don't realise it because the process happens gradually over a looooong period. There isn't one today – but many, many years ago, a river might have flowed through our backyard."

"Really?" Aoi sat up from her mother's embrace, wearing a look of unabashed wonder. "There was one like that behind our house? When did it disappear? How did that happen?"

That stumped Manabu.

The backyard river was something he made up on the fly.

"Err… centuries, probably. But that's a story for another time," he briskly added at his wife's stern expression, waving a dismissive hand. He cleared his throat. "The point is, Aoi. Your hair is something you've been gifted naturally. Treasure it. Accept it. And that applies to everything you are. Over time, people will get used to it. If it still bothers you – remember this.

You're a river too, one that can alter the landscape."

* * *

Her father was right.

Dyeing her hair wouldn't solve anything.

Cutting it wouldn't make a difference.

The people around Aoi still looked at her as if marked by a sign.

Something that screamed _'different'._

Something ' _not them'._

Something ' _weird'._

Running a tentative finger over a healing bruise on her forearm under the komon's sleeve, Aoi glumly wondered if she had the patience of a river.

* * *

 _ **Did I expect to take this long to update? Maybe not.**_ _ **I apologise for the long wait. Chapter 5 took a long time to complete - yes, the first draft is ready. You'll understand why. All I can say is that the next chapter is the first vital turning point of the story, and I had to pause to do some research.**_

 _ **Thank you for the lovely reviews. And thanks for the favourites and follows. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter.  
**_

 _ **I hope to get the next chapter up by the end of next week! Tobirama will be waiting ;)  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

With only the sound of his breath, the dull crunch of shrivelled leaves under his feet and birdsongs for company, Manabu wandered through the forest on a tranquil misty morning as an indolent sun rose over the mountains.

He wasn't quite alone.

His men – three, to be precise – were loitering somewhere out of sight but nearby. His patrol squad was on a break before embarking on the final leg of their journey home.

It had been a long night for everyone.

Manabu wanted nothing more than a hot bath to soak his sore muscles and cold-stiff bone, then slip into his warm bed. The first week was always hard, he needed prescriptions to help ease the transition from working day to night shift, and vice versa. The only reason he wasn't curled up on the ground and fast asleep was an earlier drizzle that'd left behind a cold and damp leaf-covered forest floor.

He paused beside a tree, leaning a hand against the trunk as he studied the clusters of wild cosmos scattered about. He randomly reached down with a hand, glanced at the flower he picked, and laughed at the irony. Before he knew it, he was squatting among the cosmos and filling up a pouch with the flowers of a special colour.

An arm swung down and slapped the back of Manabu's shoulders soundly, the impact almost throwing him off balance had he not been aware of a presence.

"I was sent to look for you when you didn't show up at the agreed time to find you picking flowers. Since when are you a sentimental kind of man, captain? These for your wife?"

"My daughter," corrected Manabu, forcing his subordinate to step back as he rose to his full height.

Pocketing the pouch in a safe place, he turned to the teenager. At sixteen, Kazuo was the youngest in his team and his tiresome enthusiasm seemed limitless. But the boy's a good kid.

A spark entered Kazuo's eyes at the mention of his daughter. "Come to think of it, I saw her at the administrative centre the other day with Natsu-chan and Ryoko-chan. How is she? Your daughter – err…"

"Aoi."

"Yes, Aoi. I don't see her out and about often."

Manabu dusted the dirt off his hands. "That's because she prefers to study."

"Tsubo-san is teaching her?"

"No, Miyako-sama."

"Seriously? _Her_?" blurted Kazuo. He immediately snapped his mouth shut at the look his captain gave him.

Manabu understood the source of his misgiving, but this was not the time and place to voice them. "I'm done here. Let's head back to the others," he said, putting the conversation to an abrupt end.

...

The clan head was talking with the sentries at the gates and looked up as Manabu's squad approached them.

"Welcome back, men," greeted Butsuma. "Job well done. I believe there's nothing unusual to report?"

"All is quiet in the north," Manabu confirmed.

"Good," the clan headed nodded, his stolid countenance betraying nothing as he scanned the weary faces. "Go home and rest, everyone. Manabu –" His dark eyes flickered to the man in front of the group. "—care to join me for a walk?"

Butsuma was dressed casually for his morning stroll, but it wouldn't be surprising if his haori was hiding a tanto.

Manabu kept his expression in check, all thoughts about sleep shoved to the back of his mind as he followed his leader away from the gates, down a dirt track straddling the boundary separating the Senju base from the rest of the forest. The walk was probably just an excuse, but he was left with no choice to entertain his leader's wiles. The mist had lifted, the air warming in the sun's presence. They chatted about mediocre things. The rice harvest, the weather, the upcoming winter, their wives and children. Inevitably, Manabu's daughter cropped up in their conversation.

"How is she?" asked Butsuma. "I hope she's settling fine by now."

Manabu's face softened at the thought of his daughter. "Aoi's alright. Still getting used to the attention but that cannot be helped. It'll eventually die down. It's been nearly four weeks since she's living with me and my wife. We still haven't thanked you properly enough for permitting the adoption and accepting her into the clan. It means a lot to us."

Butsuma closed his eyes, his countenance unchanged as he said, "You don't have to." His eyes emerged and travelled to Manabu. "Is it true she's studying under Miyako-sama's tutelage?"

Manabu nodded.

He didn't ask where _or who_ he'd heard it from. Tsubo might have told her patients Aoi's whereabouts when she didn't show up with her and Genta. Butsuma _happened_ to pick up the information from one of them was not surprising.

"She's progressing well in her lessons. Pretty good with maths, I hear from my wife. And Miyako-sama is thinking of teaching her history next month."

Manabu paused to reflect. He's boasting his child's ability to the clan head like a doting father. The thought embarrassed him. All the same, he couldn't deny feeling proud too. Aoi seemed more driven after their talk, which was a relief.

"That's good," Butsuma nodded. "If she has untapped potential the clan needs her even more. She's a civilian child. She'll need years of hard work and perseverance. Have you considered training her?"

A cold tingle spreading down Manabu's spine. He didn't like where this was going. "In what, if I may ask?"

Butsuma halted in his steps. He turned around; the deep lines on the wrinkled face were etched grim and taut. "Isn't it obvious, Manabu?"

' _Shinobi. He wants Aoi to be a shinobi.'_

Manabu felt his stomach dropped into a bottomless pit at the sickening realisation. He bit back a retort about Aoi being a child when it was commonplace in the shinobi world – _their_ world – that children started training as soon as they could walk.

"Aoi can help out here, in the valley," he tried to reason, voice calm. On the inside though, he was wresting with his emotions, keeping them in a dogged headlock. They could erupt like a volcano at any moment's notice. "There are plenty of positions available. She's been helping Miyako-sama –"

"—Miyako-sama cannot leave her house as it is," Butsuma smoothly cut in. "What good is letting your child's potentials go to waste, Manabu? Dusting cobwebs and sweeping floors?"

"But –"

Butsuma heaved a sigh. "You're new to this childrearing business, it's understandable you're at a loss."

Manabu slowly closed his mouth, staring at his leader incredulously as if he'd spouted a second head. He wished it was that simple. He wished Butsuma wasn't looking at him in sympathy.

"It is a parent's pride to see their child grow up strong," stated Butsuma, firmly. "The safeguard of a home cannot provide that. Your daughter may not be Senju by blood, but she now carries the clan name. Or have you _forgotten_ about that?" He paused, letting the words sink in as his flinty gaze regarded the man. "One week, Manabu. Don't force me to make the decision for her. In the meantime, she may continue her studies."

The Senju head resumed his stroll down the beaten path, leaving Manabu behind to battle his turbulent thoughts.

...

Manabu trudged through the forest in a feverish daze. He'd traced back his steps, only to turn around at the sight of the gates. He vaguely remembered stepping out of the track and crossing a river. Afterwards, it was a blur.

It's way past the time his family was expecting him home. He imagined Tsubo fraught with worry, and Aoi…

There was no way he could face his familystraight after that. He needed to cool down. Clear his mind. Then he could… could what?

It didn't make sense. Something did not add up. They were not short of manpower in the shinobi area. Why push his agenda now? On a child who, by all accounts, had not a single drop of shinobi blood in her?

A startled bird took flight into the air, the frantic beating of wings jerking Manabu out of his thoughts. He glanced around, trying to make sense of his surroundings as his erratic heartbeat calmed.

A young cedar tree stood before him, its spindly needles green in late autumn. When the initial shock abated, he edged closer, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. A patch of earth by the twisted roots appeared disturbed as if the ground was previously dug out and cast back.

Manabu eyed the tiny blades of grasses sprouting from the soil, pondering solemnly, _'One month… It really has been that long, huh.'_

A lone slab of rock stood guard over the grave. There were no engravings, no mark on the headstone. The man was given a hasty burial on the far outskirts of the valley as if to further attest his non-blood relation to the shinobi clan who held this land.

Manabu pulled out a strand of prayer beads from under his armour. It was found on the man before his burial. He'd brought it home, washed off the mud and painstakingly polished each bead until they were as good as new. Well, as new as they could be. The beads felt very old, possibly an heirloom. He carried it with him always, unable to find the right moment to give it to Aoi. He was hesitant. He wasn't sure why.

Bending his knees in a squat, Manabu placed his hands together and closed his eyes in a silent prayer. Aoi and the deceased man's relationship was somewhere at the back of his mind. Were they close? Would he approve of Aoi becoming a shinobi?

"What would you have done if you're in my place?"

A chirrup caused him to glance up at the cedar. A bird was perched on a branch, watching him curiously above the headstone. With a final chirrup, the tiny creature spread its wings and soared into the azure sky with a flutter of feathers.

...

At the distinct clattering, Aoi glanced over the front door as it glided open to reveal her father. She hurried over to the porch and called out to her mother hanging out the laundry in the backyard, "Okaa-chan! Otou-chan is back."

She returned inside. Her father was sitting on the edge of the tatami, stripping off his armours.

"Welcome home, otou-chan."

"I'm –" A huge yawn escaped Manabu "– I'm home. What? Did that startle you?" He let out a throaty laugh at her bewildered expression and reached out to ruffle her hair. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to frighten 'ya."

His brows knitted together in a frown as he studied his daughter's face. He brushed aside the red locks to reveal a small patch of chafed skin on her left cheek. It'd already healed, leaving a faint scar that'd fade with time.

"How did you get this, Aoi?"

"I fell, yesterday. It doesn't hurt anymore. Okaa-chan cleaned it"

"Is that so? Be careful next time."

Aoi's chest tightened at his gentle chiding tone. She lowered her head with a small nod, causing the red curtain of hair to fall over the cut.

Manabu wobbled unsteadily on his feet as he stood up. He casually waved off Aoi's concern, saying he was knackered, and stepped onto the tatami. His wife chose this moment to enter the house.

Tsubo gasped at his dishevelled state, eyes travelling up and down his scruffy appearance. Her husband looked like he's about to drop any moment. "Where have you been? You're late!"

Cringing at her sharp voice, Manabu plopped down in front of the hearth. "Paperwork." It was the half-truth.

Sighing in exasperation, Tsubo shook her head at her husband. "Your breakfast has gone cold. I'll heat them up right now."

Manabu threw out a hand, stopping her. "Don't bother. You're heading out soon with Aoi. I'm–" he broke off with a yawn, scratching his back, "—I'mma take a nap."

"Here?" Disbelief rang in Tsubo's voice, as her husband made himself comfortable on the tatami. "Unbelievable," she huffed and stormed towards their bedroom.

Lying on his back, Manabu gave a noncommittal shrug. He shifted his head around and patted the spot beside him. "Come here, Aoi. I have something for you."

Aoi took up the indicated space and held out her hands when instructed. A pouch was dropped on her palms. She bounced the pouch experimentally, causing the mystery contents to rustle.

"Open it."

Setting the pouch on her lap, she loosened the cord and pried the opening wider with her tiny fingers to reveal the cosmos.

Manabu recalled the moment he'd left three flowers at the man's grave. Each to represent his wish for the dead was at peace, his prayer to watch over Aoi from the heavens, and his regret for putting the girl in such a dreadful situation. But as Manabu, fighting off the claws of sleep closing around him, watched the freckled face lighting up with pure delight, he made a decision.

Delicately picking up a flower, Aoi admired it with glimmering azure eyes. She'd never seen one around, not even in Miyako's garden. "They're beautiful! Where did you find them, otou-chan? Otou-chan?" she repeated, blinking in astonishment.

There was a sigh.

"Fallen asleep, hasn't he?" Her mother padded towards them, armed with a blanket and pillow. "Geez, what am I going to do with your father? He'll freeze in this drafty room."

Aoi gathered the rest of the flowers in her hands. "Look, okaa-chan. Flowers! Otou-chan gave them to me."

"Oh? Did he?" Tsubo mused aloud, pausing to regard the flowers over her daughter's shoulder with growing amusement.

Aoi nodded. "What are they called?"

"Cosmos."

"Cosmos," Aoi echoed in wonder. "They're beautiful."

"That they are," chuckled Tsubo, relieving her arms to stroke her bemused daughter's head, fingers caressing the soft locks as vivid as the orange cosmos. Her eyes shifted to the comatose form of her slumbering husband and softened. _'You're a sly man, anata.'_

* * *

Aoi clung to her father's legs. The ground was shaking powerfully as if the earth was determined to throw her off her feet. She felt an arm wrapping around her shoulders, the touch doing little to reassure her.

The tremor subsided, only to give way to another blast of shockwave, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the gust.

Manabu had his feet planted firmly on the ground and held onto his daughter to keep her steady. "I have you, Aoi. Don't worry," he chuckled nervously, mentally berating his youngest subordinate. ' _Kazuo's overdoing it. As usual.'_ "Just stay close to me. Watch them now."

Warily, Aoi peeled her eyes opened as the wind died down.

They were standing at the edge of a large clearing, one of the many training grounds adjacent to the bamboo forest. Aoi was told to heed the warning signs posted around here; few were landscaped with obstacles and boobytraps.

It made sense now.

Her father had stressed against letting her mother aware of this trip. He'd repeated the warning to his subordinates. Aoi wasn't sure if it's his sternness or some far-flung memories that inspired the fretful silence amongst his men. She still couldn't figure out her father's purpose of bringing her to observe them training.

The three men were confronting each other in the centre of the clearing. Her eyes watered from the strain she was putting them through to keep up with their movements. They were fast. Like watching the clouds zipping across the sky in a white blur, she couldn't distinguish where one started and ended. The way they reached into their weapon pouches, the way their arms blurred as a barrage of kunai flew from their hands, the way their fingers danced to create a towering wall of earth or a jet of water.

It was entrancing.

At the same time, disturbing.

The too-constant ringing clang of colliding kunai, the shrill cry of metals as they sliced against each other, throwing sparks into the air. The thunderous rumble when the ground beneath the men's feet swelled and split apart into chunks the size of her house. The dissonant sounds rattled in her bones and heart. Aoi didn't like the sensation.

…

By the time Aoi was taken away from the training ground, much of the clearing was upended. Her father's second-in-command was ordered to file a request to have a crew to clean up the mess while he brought her home.

Manabu carried his daughter on his back in a piggyback ride. She was exhausted; her little body leaned heavily against him, head resting on his shoulder. They stopped at a stream to wash their faces.

"I shouldn't have brought you there. You were scared. I'm sorry."

Her father was slouched atop one of the massive boulders of the rocky bank, elbows resting on his thighs, as water dripped from his drenched face.

Aoi shook her head. Just as she couldn't stop blinking, it's not her father's fault she felt scared.

"Do you know what a shinobi does?" he asked, after a minute of brooding in silence.

"They watch out for intruders?" Aoi replied lamely, referring to her father's role as a border guard. Granted, she wasn't sure anymore after watching his teammates demonstrated their shinobi skills.

"It's a lot more complicated. A lot."

"More than humans?"

"Nah, humans are definitely more complicated," Manabu chuckled wryly, glancing at the stream flowing behind his daughter.

"Why did you become a shinobi, otou-chan?" asked Aoi, bringing her hands up to wring water from her damp hair. She'd grew accustomed to her short hair, pleased that her hair dried faster after baths now.

She looked at her father. He was a captain and could surely do as much as the three. Perhaps more.

Manabu lifted his eyes to the sky. The light was beginning to fade as twilight approached. In two hours, he would have his dinner and set off with his squad for another night shift. "Children born into a shinobi household are expected to follow in their parents' footsteps. I was one of them."

"What if a parent isn't a shinobi?"

"There is no exception," he answered, regrettably. He lowered his gaze. "But not every shinobi family follows this custom. Your mother was lucky her parents allowed their children to decide their own paths. Even then, they had to go through the previous clan head for his approval. Whether or not an appeal works out, the decisions depend on demands and needs of the clan. Unless the family specialises in a certain trade or field, like medicine and woodwork – skills which can be passed down through generations – in which case, the child is encouraged to inherit their skills and knowledge. Cases like your mother's are extraordinary but not unusual." He paused. "My father, however, never gave me that choice."

"Does it make you sad?"

Manabu smiled wistfully at the memories of his old man. His father had died on the battlefield three years after his marriage to Tsubo.

"No. Perhaps during the occasional moments in my teens. But not anymore."

His father was not at fault.

Manabu was at a delicate, impressionable age when the burden was pushed on him, much like every other shinobi. Which explained the high probability of a child becoming a shinobi.

Even so…

"Even so, if I was given a choice, I would've still picked the life of a shinobi without a second thought."

"Why?" asked Aoi, carefully picking her around the boulders to reach her father. She accepted his proffered hand.

"Because today –" Manabu effortlessly hauled her onto the boulder beside his, a smile tugging at his lips as he gazed warmly at his daughter "— I'm able to protect my friends and family, the people dear to me; my clan and our home – the valley. Being a shinobi is not just about honour and duty. Everyone has their personal motivations. Everyone plays an important role. People like your mother and Genta, the farmers – and even Miyako-sama – they're helping in ways that are beneficial to the clan."

Aoi gazed pensively at the stream. "What about me?"

"… Butsuma asked if you wish to be a shinobi."

The clan head, the man possessing the highest authority within the clan, acknowledged her as a fellow Senju, despite her background or lack thereof. Aoi should be rejoicing. Instead, she was addled.

"Okaa-chan said I'll get hurt. That won't happen if I become strong, right?" she pondered aloud. To be able to protect the people dear to her. It had a nice ring to it.

Manabu was silent for a few moments. He reached into the folds of his haori, fingers brushing past the prayer beads, and pulled out a silk handkerchief. He tucked a red lock behind Aoi's right ear and tied the lustrous fabric in her hair. Navy and decorated with golden gingko embroideries, it was a gift from his wife on their first wedding anniversary. He always carried it on his person like an amulet.

"Yes. And no," Manabu said, leaning back. "You will understand, eventually, that strength comes in different forms. I'll be honest, Aoi. When you threw that tantrum that evening, I was surprised. Really surprised. At the same time," he placed a hand over his heart, "I was glad – no, I should say happy."

Aoi looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Happy?"

"If anyone tells you to do something, I worry you won't question. Or you'll do it without a doubt, without considering the consequences of your actions. But now." Manabu grinned proudly at his flabbergasted daughter. " _Now_ , I am assured that you can think for yourself, even if it's just a start. Which makes it important that I leave the decision _to you_."

That's right. He could resolve the matter straightaway but hold back on approaching Butsuma, despite his stance against young children on the battlefield. He had to consider Aoi's feelings. The very thought of his daughter growing up, resenting her parents for not letting her a say in her own life filled him with immeasurable pain.

"If you want to continue studying under Miyako-sama, find a role within the clan, I'll support you. If you choose to be a shinobi, I'll make sure you train hard every day, so that you can protect yourself and those around you."

"Do I have to stop going to Miyako-sama's house if I become a shinobi?"

"I'm afraid so. But that doesn't mean you can't read or study in your spare time," Manabu added at Aoi's crestfallen expression. He caressed the crown of her head. "It's a lot to take in, I know. Don't rush. You don't have to decide now. Butsuma is giving us a week. Use this time to think carefully, Aoi. I trust you can do it."

Aoi clambered to her feet and wrapped her arms around her father's neck in a hug. She didn't utter her thanks, letting her action spoke for her.

"And one thing, Aoi. Keep what we just said between the two of us, okay? Your mother will skewer me alive if she finds out."

The mellifluous sound gracing him was like the tinkle of bells. Manabu fell in love with his daughter's laugh the first time he heard it. And right then, he knew he made the right choice.

* * *

"Be still," scolded Tsubo, planting her hands on the small shoulders to stop Aoi squirming.

"But it's heavy. My arms hurt."

"It'll be over in a minute if you stop moving. Chin up. Back straight. Keep your arms out. Straight, Aoi. Straight. That's it – now, _hold still_ for me."

Yui giggled behind Aoi as she fixed the obi. "Have you ever thought of switching jobs? You'll make a great drill sergeant. I'm sure Manabu-nii can slip in a recommendation."

"Wha –? Somebody said my name?" a groggy voice asked from behind the folding screen.

"You're hearing it in your sleep, Manabu-nii. Go back to dreamland."

"O-okay."

A loud snore soon followed.

"You're deluded. I didn't ask for you to come over to give me cheeks," said Tsubo, irately.

"Stop stressing about it," Yui retorted in an airy tone. "You're making Aoi-chan more nervous. The furisode will get dirty in the walk to the shrine, anyway."

It was an unreserved decision to register Aoi's name for today's ceremony. The Senju clan had long observed _Shichi-Go-San_ on the fifteenth day of November at the clan's shrine in the mountain, to pray for the health and happiness of children aged seven, five and three. Aoi's actual age was unknown considering her circumstance – though everybody who met her said she's too young to be in her preadolescence – which made the day a perfect opportunity to formally recognise her as a seven-year-old.

Tsubo rolled her eyes at Yui's quip, stubbornly patting down the most minute of creases on the long sleeves. Like the bright purple komon Aoi wore on the night they met with the clan head and his wife, the ensemble was borrowed from her sister. Though Yui insisted they kept it as a gift. The furisode matched the autumn aesthetic with the shower of red, pale yellow, orange chrysanthemums and the occasional green bamboos against a white backdrop, bringing out the colours of Aoi's azure eyes.

Tsubo herself was dressed in an emerald and silver houmongi, make-up adorning her usually plain face, and her chestnut hair was pinned back in a bun with a modest kanzashi.

Yui had brought along her extensive collection of ornate flower kanzashi but her niece obstinately refused to swap out the navy silk in her hair. She gave up after her sister didn't intervene on her behalf.

As she smoothed down the red tresses with a comb, she recalled the shock when Aoi greeted her at the front door earlier. Nobody warned her in advance, and she had been on the verge of lambasting her traitor of a sister for committing such impetuous act until she took a second, closer look and realised Tsubo did a surprisingly good job.

…

They parted ways outside their house.

Walking down the streets with her mother, Aoi wanted nothing more than to stay at home with her father. He needed to rest for his night shift but woke up to see them off at the entryway. He'd patted her head, the corner of his bleary eyes crinkled as he smiled affectionately at her.

A group of mothers and their children were already waiting at the gates with more turning up after Aoi and Tsubo did. The noise was deafening. Impatient whines, gossips, petty arguments between children, the odd laughs.

Aoi ignored the occasional curious stares as best as she could, shifting nervously on her zori. She wished the day would end quickly.

Their escorts, two bored-looking men, stood out in their standard black shinobi attire among the sea of colourful houmongi, furisode, hakama and hifu. They swept their eyes over the throng of twenty-something individuals, regularly referring to a list in their hands.

"Everyone's here. Let's move."

The group spilt out from the gates, following one of the escort's lead through the forest while his partner was at the rear.

A tongue clicked in an irritated manner. "Why do we even have escorts? We're capable of looking after ourselves. Right, okaa-san?"

"Quiet, Touka!" her mother berated. "This was the clan head's arrangement. You'll do well not to argue against that."

Touka harrumphed but kept quiet. She glanced down at her bright red furisode and pulled a face as if the vivid colours repulsed her. She looked around in disinterest. There were only a handful of seven-year-olds, all girls as per tradition.

"What are you looking at, redhead?"

Aoi jumped at the aloof voice. "N-nothing," she squeaked, averting her azure eyes from the dark ones.

Her ears burnt with embarrassment, as the girl, Touka, regarded her pensively before turning away with an indifferent shrug, much to her relief. Aoi kept her gaze resolutely ahead after that.

The lively atmosphere turned sombre, and chatters died down to a respectful volume as the procession passed under a red and black torii. They hiked up a long flight of stone steps to reach the shrine near the top of the mountain. A wizened priest was there, accompanied by the Senju matriarch dressed in an exquisite red and gold houmongi.

Kiyohana greeted them, her red-tinted lips curled in an incandescent smile. "Welcome, everyone!" her velvety voice rang out. "Please make yourself comfortable. Be aware, the ceremony will start in ten minutes. So please make sure you and your children are seated five minutes before it starts."

Catching a glimpse of red, Kiyohana left the priest in the escort's care, and strolled towards Aoi and Tsubo, smile widening. "I'm glad you can make it, Tsubo-san."

"Thank you," Tsubo dipped her head. She glanced around, taking in everything with eyes swimming with emotions. "It's a great pleasure to be here."

"I'm happy for you," Kiyohana responded with a genuine smile.

 _Shichi-Go-San_ was considered a momentous ceremony in the clan. She couldn't imagine what Tsubo was going through every year, watching mothers bringing their children to the shrine. The yearning, the pain. Perhaps jealousy. Tsubo must be thinking right now, _'Who would've ever thought I have the chance of attending Shichi-Go-San as a mother?'_

Kiyohana turned to the girl, who most likely wasn't told how much it meant to her mother to be here on this special day. ' _Perhaps one day when she's older'_ , she told herself, smilingly. "It's been a while, Aoi-chan. You're looking very cute today." She leaned down to pat Aoi's bob hair fondly, causing the girl to blush. "I hope you'll enjoy the ceremony."

"Thank you," Aoi flustered.

At the scuffling of tiny feet, the redhead peered over Kiyohana's shoulder and saw two boys running towards them. She was about to warn the matriarch, who was standing up to her full height, when the five-year-old in his hakama barrelled into the woman's legs with a muffled cry of _oof!_ The boy stumbled back from the force, rubbing his nose in pain.

"No running in the shrine. How many times do I have to tell you?" Brows pinched together in a frown, Kiyohana squatted down before the boy to straighten his kimono. "Now, look at you. Your hakama is ruined, and there's dirt everywhere. Where's your brother?" she asked, eyes flickering to the second boy who just caught up.

Ignoring the fuss, the hakama-clad boy fumbled in his pocket. "Kaa-chan, look! Look what we found at the back of the shrine. It's –" He broke off with a sputter, gaping at Aoi in an awestricken manner. "It's the pumpkin fairy! She's real!"

Aoi stared at him, her boggled mind glossing over the _'pumpkin fairy'_ bit. To think her red hair was unusual, the boy's hair was split down the middle of his head into black and Kiyohana's platinum. Even his eyebrows matched the striking dual-tone pattern.

"Manners, Itama!" scolded Kiyohana, lightly smacking his hand from the air. "It's rude to point at others."

"It's fine, Kiyohana-san," Tsubo chuckled awkwardly. Eager to diffuse the situation, she smiled at Itama. "Hello, Itama. Are you excited for the ceremony?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Itama in his high-pitch voice, puffing his chest out. "From today onwards, I am officially a man!"

"You're lying. Tobi-nii said you're too short to be a man," the other boy pointed out, causing Itama to instantly deflate.

Kiyohana delicately cleared her throat, arching an eyebrow at Itama before he could kick up another fuss. "Allow me to introduce my sons, Aoi-chan. My youngest, three-year-old Kawarama." She placed a hand on top of the boy with mousy brown hair, then gestured at the two-toned boy with a wave of a hand. "The third, Itama. He's five. Say hello to Aoi-chan, boys."

"Hello!"

"Pumpkin!"

"Kawarama!"

Hair aside, it's hard not to draw comparisons between her features and the orange fruit though. The way her red hair framed her cheeks and chin made her round face rounder, and Kiyohana had to resist the urge to pinch those soft freckled cheeks. Instead, she focused on Aoi's azure eyes as she talked.

"Sorry about that, Aoi-chan. You've met my eldest, Hashirama? The boy with black hair shaped like an upside-down bowl?"

' _Oh, that boy! Come to think of it, he did say something about being the eldest to Butsuma – I mean the clan head.'_

The recognition must have shown on Aoi's face, because Kiyohana went on. "Unfortunately, he's out training with his father and can't join us. Ah, and of course." She reached behind her and seemingly fished a boy out of thin air. "This is my second son, Tobirama. He's turning nine in late winter."

…

The ceremony wrapped up an hour later. The old priest departed the Senju's shrine with one of their escorts while Kiyohana's family joined the group returning home. Aoi and her mother lingered at the back with the matriarch and her sons. The two women soon dissolved into friendly chatters, leaving an unenthusiastic redhead with the boys.

Itama seemed eager to talk her ears off. How Hashirama was wrong. How he believed the shade of her hair was closer to persimmon – and he whipped out the orange fruit he'd picked from the persimmon tree growing behind the shrine from his pocket and waved it under her nose, quite literally as he was shorter than her.

Kawarama simply stared over his mother's shoulder from his perch.

The boys' brother acted indifferent to Aoi's suffering until he couldn't take the incessant blabbering anymore. "Keep quiet, Itama. This mountain is sacred."

For a fraction of a second, their eyes met before the redhead pointedly turned away, the corner of her lips downturned. It's clear she didn't like him, but it didn't stop Tobirama from studying her in puzzlement.

Her red hair, once thick and cascaded to her hips, now bobbed around her chin with each footstep, the navy bow swaying along to the steady rhythm. Her new haircut didn't lessen the ethereal effect. Her hair still gave off an ember glow when she walked into a shaft of light falling through a gap in the canopies.

"Can you please stop staring at me?"

Tobirama wordlessly looked away from the pair of scowling azure eyes.

' _What's the matter with him? Was it not enough he insulted me?'_ Aoi fumed, self-consciously combing her fingers through her hair. She felt strangely nettled that he acquiesced. Just as she was displeased that he was _real_ , son of the sweet and kind Kiyohana, and a year older than her.

Aoi deliberately slowed down so that Tobirama walked ahead of her. She noticed his head turned to the side as if poised to look over his shoulder.

He never did.

Aoi found herself walking on her own. She shrugged, thrilled that she could enjoy some peace and quiet now that she finally had them.

From the back of the procession, the adults and children look like a colony of multicoloured ants slowly climbing their way down the stairs. The mountain's virgin forest was a fusion of every autumn colours imaginable. Leaves twirled in the air as they plunged towards earth, scattering all over the stone steps weathered by the climate and the hundreds, perhaps thousands of feet, visiting the shrine over the centuries. There was a large break in the trees where a periwinkle sky peeked through. The sun was beginning to sink behind a mountain range – so distant that when Aoi held up a hand, her pinkie completely obscured a mountain. The clouds were ablaze, and the forest below donned a mantle of gold stretching as far and wide as her eyes could see.

Aoi inhaled the air deeply.

Ah, so this was what her mother brought home from the herb gathering, the scent that lingered on her father. Forest. It's the scent of the forest.

"Aoi! Hurry up or you'll get left behind!" her mother's voice called, startling the redhead back to the present. Her mother was several steps down, Kiyohana and her sons waiting beside her.

Aoi pointedly ignored Tobirama as she regrouped with them, murmuring a sheepish apology.

Tsubo and Kiyohana conversed in hushed voices as they continued down the mountain; Kawarama had fallen asleep on his mother's shoulder, a blob of dribble forming in the corner of his mouth. Itama was skipping ahead of them. Meanwhile, a stubborn silence reigned between Aoi and Tobirama who were once again trailing behind everyone.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, causing heads to turn up as the sky exploded in a glare of crimson.

It suddenly went quiet. The breeze had stilled, and the birds no longer sang. The mountain seemed to be holding its breath along with the humans, whose faces were illuminated in the dying light of the twinkling crimson sparks.

"That was a distress signal," someone whispered.

All at once, a huge uproar erupted.

Kawarama was passed over to Itama; the youngest of the four siblings were no longer asleep, staring wide-eyed at the commotion around him.

The crowd parted like waves as Kiyohana marched up to the escort struggling to bring order. "Go check what's going on, Take," she ordered. "I'll take it from here."

The escort nodded, almost in relief. He disappeared in a blink of an eye, much to Aoi's astonishment.

Kiyohana whirled around, grim-faced, the sky behind her periwinkle once more. "Children, you are to stay with your parents while we descend the mountain. Disobey, and I will personally see to your punishment." Her red eyes briefly settled on Itama and Tobirama, flashing dangerously that the former visibly recoiled. "Everyone, please remain calm but stay alert. The gates are not far off. Let's go."

"Okaa-chan," Aoi whimpered, hand seeking her mother's as they started to move again, the procession now led by the matriarch. The air was buzzing with unease and excitement, it was noxious. The sudden mood shift in the atmosphere disconcerted her.

Tsubo squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. Just do what Kiyohana-san said and we'll be fine." She managed a smile, but there was a haunted gleam in her eyes – a look reflected on several mothers around them.

…

Darkness had fallen by the time they were out of the mountain, twenty minutes later. It was eerily quiet. But as they approached the gates, the sentries were noticeably on edge, and the atmosphere of the valley was thick with tension, a knife could cut through it. People had seen the flare.

"Ambush, Kiyohana-dono," one of the sentries said when the matriarch reached the gates with the festival goers at her tail.

"Ambush?"

"One of our border patrols."

The words were repeated and passed through the increasingly restless crowd.

Aoi's heart leapt to her throat.

Tsubo caressed her head in a comforting gesture. "Your father's shift hasn't started. He should be at home." Or running out the house by now. If the flare didn't alert him, surely the furore deep within the base would.

"We received words to prepare the infirmary," the sentry went on.

Kiyohana inhaled sharply at the morbid news. "My husband?"

"Already leading the rescue. Your son is with him."

A soundless sigh escaped her. "Alright. Thank you."

Kiyohana paused to recollect herself. With her husband gone, the responsibility of the valley rested on her shoulders. Setting her jaws, she turned to the families crowding around her anxiously in a semi-circle.

"Everyone, please return to your homes. Do not leave unless it's an emergency."

Families started to disperse without being told twice; mothers were eager to get their children home.

Kiyohana approached her sons. "Itama take your brother home. Tobirama, you stay with me."

"Understood."

"What!? That's not fair!"

"Who's going to look after Kawarama?" their mother countered. " _Please,_ Itama. For my sake?"

Itama sagged his shoulders in defeat.

Kiyohana sent them off with an apologetic smile. She watched Itama begrudgingly plodding away from her, Kawarama toddling beside him and holding onto his brother's hand. Tobirama came up to her side, his presence bolstering her, even for a brief moment.

"They're coming, haha-ue."

Not a minute later, the first shinobi burst through the foliage. Three more appeared closely behind. All four of them were carrying an injured on their back. The odd families hovering inside the gates swiftly moved back as they darted past.

Tsubo yanked Aoi towards her, fingers unconsciously digging into the flesh of her daughter's small shoulders. The scene had her transfixed and staring in horror as it unfolded, Aoi didn't register the pain.

Blood.

Out of their opened wounds, splattered over the armours, soaking through their clothes and hastily dressed bandages, the dark crimson liquid glistened eerily in the light of the burning torches.

A toe-curdling scream penetrated the air.

Tears streaming down his face, a five-year-old boy scrambled after a shinobi carrying an unconscious man who looked to have lost his entire left arm. His half-torn sleeve flapped uselessly behind him, and it seemed to pull the distraught boy like a magnet.

The boy stumbled on his short legs, catching his own foot, and tumbled onto the grass. "Tou-san!" he wailed. He kept wailing and screaming for his father, even as his pale-faced mother and other adults gathered around to console him.

A shinobi landed in front of Kiyohana.

"It's a coordinated attack but we managed to push them back," he reported through heavy breaths. "Our other patrols were hit. Butsuma-sama is heading to the west with half our team as we speak. We need more squads."

"Understood," Kiyohana nodded grimly. She paused to assess the few bruises and bleeding cuts he sported. "You should have those look at. Go to the infirmary with the others."

For a moment, the shinobi looked about to argue but thought better of it. With a dip of his head, he set off after the casualties.

"Tsubo! Aoi!"

At the familiar voice, Aoi turned around to find her father jogging up to them.

"Thank God!" gasped Manabu, sweeping his family into his arms. "Thank God, you're all home." He pulled away. "You're needed at the infirmary, Tsubo. They've requested you."

"What about you?" his wife retorted, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in his armours, sword hanging from his waist.

Manabu placed his hands on her shoulders, his calm composure strongly contrasted her agitated one. "I have my duty – and so do you, Tsubo."

Tsubo's gaze flitted to their daughter and back to her husband.

"Go. _Now_. Genta is waiting. I'm leaving straight after the debriefing."

His wife gave a half-hearted nod and rushed towards the direction of the infirmary.

Manabu stooped down to his daughter's level. "Go home immediately. Whatever happens, stay inside."

Shaking her head, Aoi reached for her father. "O-otou-chan… I'm scared."

 _Don't leave me._

 _Don't. Leave._

Manabu's grim expression instantly crumbled. He pulled her into his arms, but the hug ended too soon. He stood up at the sound of his second-in-command calling him, torn on the inside at the pleading look on his daughter's face.

"I'm sorry, Aoi."

With a final look of remorse, Aoi could only watch helplessly as her father strode away from her. She wanted to run after him. She wouldn't trip like the boy just now. She –

"Go home," a voice cut through her disquiet thoughts. "There's nothing you can do here."

Tobirama spared a glance over his shoulder before strolling up to his mother, leaving Aoi alone with her worries and cold in her beautiful furisode.

* * *

 _Later that evening, news from the capital arrived._

 _The daimyo was assassinated._

 _Conflicts and distrust rose among the former daimyo's retainers over the next period of four months, spreading to the shinobi clans. The neighbouring countries observed intently with perverted glee as skirmishes broke out across the Fire Country when a new daimyo arose amidst the pandemonium._

 _Many were discontent. Several showed their dissent._

 _In the late spring of the same year, the armistice broke._

 _War was declared._

* * *

 ** _At 7336 words, this is the longest chapter I've written at this point of the story. The first half was difficult to lay out. Aside from researching information on Shichi-Go-San, I kept changing and adding scenes that it took me weeks to feel satisfied with the first draft of chapter 5. I know Butsuma is often portrayed as an ass, but really, he's the clan head. I'm hoping to explore his character in the subsequent chapters.  
_**

 ** _And yes, there will be more Tobirama and his brothers from this chapter onward._**

 ** _Thank you for reviewing! Thank you for the faves and follows. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!  
_**


	6. Chapter 6

A nine-year-old Aoi stepped out from the shadows of the trees, azure eyes scanning the meadow.

Her target was elusive and shrewd, not to mention quick. She needed to be more than cautious. She prowled forward and squatted amongst the wildflowers and tall grasses. She's small enough to remain hidden. To help blend in with her surroundings, her red hair was tied up and tucked underneath a green scarf.

There was no breeze. Aoi promptly fell on all fours and pressed her stomach close to the ground at the sharp rustling. Something was moving ahead, larger than the mice scuttling unseen in the meadow. She reached behind for her pouch hanging from her sash and drew out a knife.

Blood pounding in her ears, she licked her lips with anticipation and brushed aside a clump of grass in front of her nose. Blue met red.

In an instant, Aoi leapt from her hiding place, the hare took off towards the trees. She had a final glimpse of a furry white hind disappearing into a shrub before the ground rose up to smack her soundly, startling a flock of birds nesting in a nearby tree into the air. The knife skittered across the ground from her hand.

Aoi laid there unmoving, arms and legs sprawled around her, catching her breath. What she thought were spots dancing in her vision turned into a couple of butterflies. She propped herself up on her elbows, keen eyes following their flight path, and rolled onto her back to watch them fly above her. Higher and higher they rose, they shrank into two tiny shadows fluttering against the blue and white canvas.

' _Are they trying to reach the sun? Idiots. They'll burn to death before reaching the star._ '

The butterflies veered left and drifted out sight.

Aoi pulled out a strand of prayer beads, a birthday gift from her father when she'd turned eight on the same day her parents commemorated her adoption.

Gripping the largest bead between her thumb and index finger, she held it up against the sunlight. An image of a temple shone back at her. She studied the picture inset, or _'her little secret'_ as she liked to call it. A week after receiving the gift, she'd discovered it on accident while reading by the light of a candle. Her father wouldn't have known about the picture. She wasn't sure if she should tell him. Something kept holding her back.

Aoi tucked the beads back inside her komon and stood up, dusting the dirt and grass from her kimono. She bent down to pick up her knife and slipped it back into her pouch.

A gentle breeze rolled across the meadow; the foliage shivered as if brushed by a giant hand, carrying a sweet scent up the mountain. Aoi turned around. The valley below was bursting with colours, teeming with life new and old. Spring was her favourite season. No more long dark hours in the frost, heavy haori, itchy woollen scarf and hat. They felt like old memories as she took in the view, the spring sunshine warming her skin.

The scenery shifted.

Withered leaves littered the ground. Trees brimmed with autumn foliage as if the greens were painted over. The sky was blood red, the colour seeping down into the valley like droplets of ink pouring over paper, spreading across the expanse, crawling up the mountain and into the meadow.

The breeze strengthened to a gust, shattering the illusion, and the air was calm once more.

Two years had passed, and yet the memory of that night still haunted her.

Walking back to the trees, Aoi retrieved her leather bag and wicker basket from the ground. She added whatever wild vegetables she came across to her basket on the way down the mountain, working with fervour, indulging her mind in the repetition of the task. She wasn't particularly fond of anything bitter but ate the vegetables because her mother insisted they're nutritious. At least foraging was fun, and it meant she could get away from the base for a couple of hours.

At the foot of the mountain, Aoi deposited her basket on the shore of a river. She made her way towards the gurgling water, the pebbles shifting under feet as she bent her knees in a squat. She dipped her handkerchief into the river, flinching at the icy water lapping at her skin. Face, hands and feet scrubbed clean, she washed the handkerchief and draped it on the pebbles to dry.

Standing back, she released her hair from the scarf's binding. A rush of cool air washed over her scalp, drawing a blissful sigh from her. She glanced down. The girl reflected on the water's surface had red locks that fell to her shoulders.

From her komon, Aoi fished out her silk handkerchief, tied it in her hair to make a ponytail and scrutinised her appearance. It didn't make her face any less round, and she swore there were more freckles than last spring. Aside from growing her hair and freckles, and gaining three inches in height, look-wise, there hadn't been any drastic changes over the past two years.

She placed her hands on her chest. _Flat._

Aoi shrugged nonchalantly and walked away from the water. Perching on a sturdy piece of driftwood, she brought out a book from her bag. She liked reading in the heart of nature. It's easier to immerse herself in the story, imagine herself free to roam the lands. Imagine a war wasn't happening outside the clan boundaries…

Leaves rustled.

The sound's coming from the opposite riverbank. Much too loud to be a bird or a small critter.

Curious, Aoi peered up from her book. Footsteps were moving towards the river. A boy emerged from the thicket, carrying a bucket in one hand and a fishing rod propped on his shoulder. She took in the mop of platinum hair and snapped her book shut.

 _It's him._

Aoi slid off the driftwood and gathered her stuff, unbothered by the racket she's making in her haste. She wouldn't stick around in his presence.

It never ended well.

…

A pungent smell hit Aoi like a tonne of bricks.

Broiled herbs.

The stench filled her house.

Aoi left the door ajar. Pinching her nose, she breathed through her mouth.

"I'm back, okaa-chan! Otou-chan!" she called, shaking off her straw slippers. Her voice sounded funny with her nostrils scrunched tight. She left the basket at the entryway.

There's a pot specifically used to prepare medicines by the hearth. Warily, she peered inside as if the contents might explode in her face. The shrivelled ingredients sat cooling in a murky heap at the bottom.

Her parents' bedroom door glided open.

Her mother walked out, balancing two bowls on a tray in one hand. The stink didn't faze her. She grew up around medicinal herbs, she's practically immune.

Meeting Aoi's gaze, Tsubo touched an index finger to her lips and gestured towards the bedroom with her head.

Aoi nodded. _Be quiet._

Tsubo closed the door behind her. "How's the trip?" she asked, setting the tray on the floor.

"It's alright." Which was somewhat true.

The throbbing pressure, which'd surfaced since her daughter left for the mountain this morning, dissipated from the spot between Tsubo's eyebrows. She ran a finger along one of the many deep lines on her face. She knew without consulting a mirror that she looked a little worse for wear. With the ongoing war, her workload had doubled, working between the infirmary and caring for her regular patients. It's exhausting. But each day, she counted her blessings. She wasn't in a faraway land, in foreign territory, or behind enemy lines like her more abled peers drafted in to tend to their wounded.

Most importantly, she's able to see her husband and daughter every day. It's this comforting thought that helped her endure, keep her sane.

"That's a lot of mushrooms in here," commented Tsubo, rummaging through the contents of Aoi's basket. "Ostrich ferns, butterburs and asparagus… I can whip up mushroom nabe with these and fry up these ones for side dishes." She tapped her chin, contemplating. "There's more than enough for the three of us tonight. We'll divide them up so that we can use them for tomorrow and give the excess to the neighbours next door. Ah, and Miyako-sama too." Tsubo caressed her daughter's head, the corner of her eyes crinkled with a smile. "You've done well, Aoi. Thank you. Your father will be up and about in no time."

Aoi revelled in her mother's praise. "Can I greet him?"

"Of course, but don't stay too long in there. He's just taken his medicine and is resting. Do be quiet when you go in."

"Okay!"

Aoi made a detour to her bedroom to drop off her stuff. She'd moved into the room beside her parents' last year. It's furnished with a bookshelf, low table, and a chest of drawers. Her room wasn't messy per se. Just a lot of books, scrolls and writing materials.

Her eyes shifted to the vase sitting atop the drawers. A single orange tulip stood amongst its white and yellow brethren, almost in a rebellious manner. Her father did always sneak in one or two orange flowers, even though she'd long grown bored of seeing the same colour gathered in a bunch all day. Her hair didn't draw as much attention as used to, and when it did, her cousins were usually involved. All the same, she'd stopped resenting her hair. No doubt her father and his flowers had something to with it. For that, she's grateful.

In her parent's bedroom, Aoi sat beside her father's futon.

He's sound asleep. Deep rumbling snores reverberated in his throat. His chest rose and fell beneath the thick blanket at a steady rhythm. Aoi gingerly placed a hand on his forehead, afraid she might wake him. His skin was abnormally warm, no longer feverish to touch.

She sighed in relief.

Nothing to worry about. Her mother had assured her it's just a common cold, scoffing exasperatedly when all her father could do was moan in agony and gripe about the disgusting medicines he's force-fed. He had Aoi's sympathy.

"I'm home, otou-chan," whispered Aoi. "I almost caught a hare today. When you're better, can you teach me how to set up traps?"

It was Manabu who took Aoi out to explore the nearby forest and mountains, despite Tsubo's initial concerns. Taught her how to recognise the poisonous from the edible mushrooms, showed her the different vegetables and herbs growing in the wild.

Aoi checked the water jug to find it full. She leaned over to tug his blanket a little higher. Her mother had done it before her. The redhead felt like doing it herself, recalling the last time she was sick with a high fever and her father would tuck her in.

The only sound in the bedroom was her father's snores. Watching him sleep peacefully, she caught herself pondering an old ' _what if'_.

What if her father had been on an early shift the night their border patrols were attacked?

There were no fatalities, but most had been left with permanent injuries.

* * *

 **Three days later**

Two teens stepped in front of Aoi, forcing her to stop. She shifted the books in her arms and reluctantly peered up at her cousins, their grey eyes coldly regarded her down their noses.

Aoi chewed the inside of her mouth, dread filling her stomach.

The farmers were tending their crops on another hill. The three of them were the only souls around for miles.

Had she known her cousins were back, she'd use the busy routes. For all the courageous deeds they claimed fighting in the frontlines, they wouldn't dare harass her in front of so many adults. Their deployment usually lasted months. Those days were peaceful. She didn't have to constantly check over her shoulders. And in an ideal world, she wouldn't see hide nor hair of them for the rest of her life if everything worked according to her wishes.

Tetsuo heaved a dramatic sigh. "Here I thought we can enjoy this nice weather. Urgh, what a sight for sore eyes."

"Move out of the way, red squirrel," Hideo ordered. "You're blocking the road."

The path was narrow. To her left, a water-logged paddy field. To her right, a swift drop into another plot. Aoi didn't fancy getting drenched in mud but it didn't seem like they're eager to move yet. She could sweat it out, wait for them to get bored and leave. Like always. Fanning the flame meant digging her own grave.

Today, something came loose.

"If I'm such a pain, why go out all the way to look for me? That's counter-intuitive," Aoi retaliated through gritted teeth, earning identical looks of astonishment. She lapped up their reactions that'd slipped past their guards.

"Are you implying we're idiots?" scowled Tetsuo, narrowing his eyes into dark slits.

"You got some nerves, twerp," growled Hideo. "We'll teach you a lesson and another."

Aoi felt a prickle of fear and stepped back as Hideo advanced towards her with an ominous aura. There's a rumour going around. Of the two, the dark-haired brother was the most quick-tempered and inclined to violence at the slightest provocation.

"Stop!"

Hideo's hand froze an inch from grabbing Aoi.

They looked up at the unmistakable figure of Itama standing at the top of the terraced hill. He jumped without hesitation, his trademark salt and pepper hair swaying wildly in the wind.

Itama planted himself between Aoi and her cousins, holding his arms aloft like a shield.

Hideo clicked his tongue, vexed. "Get lost, brat! This has nothing to do with you."

Next to the teens, Itama looked like a dwarf. He refused to let that thwart him and returned Hideo's glare. "No, I won't! Why are you always picking on Aoi? You two should be ashamed of yourselves! How can you call yourself a shinobi, bullying someone smaller and weaker –" he slapped a hand over his mouth.

Behind Hideo, Tetsuo smirked. "See? You just admitted she's useless."

"T-that's not what I said!" sputtered Itama, ears turning red. He shot Aoi an apologetic look.

Biting back a sigh, Aoi touched Itama's shoulder. "Enough, Itama. Let's just go."

Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heels and started down the direction whence she came, ignoring the snickers behind her and the slight tremors in her legs. Itama shot the teens a warning look before following her. They travelled in silence, using the longer route through the paddy fields back to the central area.

"I'm sorry," Itama piped up, dipping his head sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Aoi managed a small smile. "It's fine. I know you're just trying to help. Thank you."

Itama balled his hands into fists. "They should be ashamed," he heatedly said. "They're older than us. Yet, they act like a couple of unruly kids."

"I guess some rivers don't change," Aoi muttered under her breath, not realising her voice was audible.

"Rivers?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

"Wait until I tell Hashirama-nii. He'll be mad."

Aoi shuddered despite the mild temperature. "Please don't," she implored. "The last thing I need is Hashirama creating a fuss."

Itama frowned. "Are you sure?"

It was the summer following the war declaration, Hashirama had discovered Aoi nursing a bleeding elbow at a stream. Her fabricated story didn't work. Hashirama had spent the next hour wheedling the truth out of her. Then, dragged her to convince his father that her cousins should be punished for causing deliberate harm. Butsuma had been in the middle of overseeing preparations for the clan's first major battle since the armistice, supervising the loading of shinobi equipment when they'd barged in. He didn't believe his son, even when Aoi was forced to display the wound. She'd stood there, staring at her toes, face hot with embarrassment, wishing the ground swallowed her up as they shouted at each other in front of spectators.

"Very," asserted Aoi.

"But it'll be –"

"Itama!"

"Oi, Itama! Let's train together!"

They stopped at a junction, where the path split at a perfect right-angle. To their far right, two boys in training gears were waving their arms above their heads. When they noticed the person beside Itama, however, their arms froze in mid-air, bewilderment and a trace of uncertainty adorning their features.

"You go on, Itama. I'm fine from here." Aoi gestured her head at two maroon banners bearing the Senju insignia at the end of their path straight ahead, indicating the entrance to the central area. The bamboo forest stood right behind the banners.

Itama hesitated. Seeing the stubborn glint in her eyes, he eventually complied. "Will I see you at the sakura viewing tomorrow?"

Aoi contemplated. Her cousins wouldn't show up at the annual event; they seemed to avoid festivities like the plague. That much she's certain. She nodded.

Itama's face lit up. "Great! Guess I'll see you then. Take care!"

"You too."

Aoi watched the seven-year-old ran up to his friends. They talked rapidly. She was too far to hear what they're saying, but it's clear from the way Itama's friends frequently looked her way over his shoulders that it's about her.

She turned her back on the three kids – their world she wasn't part of, couldn't completely comprehend – and continued down the road on her own.

…

" _We are at war. Don't waste time, getting yourself involved in trifling matters in the future, Hashirama!" warned Butsuma, a protruding vein visible on his neck. "This is my last warning. I won't hold back next time. Now begone – both of you!"_

Meandering through the streets, Aoi replayed those words in her head. She'd grabbed the back of Hashirama's haori before he could launch himself at the clan leader. _His own father, for Pete's sake._ She wasn't sure how she'd managed to stop him, much less haul his thrashing body away from his father. The boy weighed heavier than her. She'd been desperate. Yes. Above all, scared.

Before the father-and-son row, Aoi had always envisioned their stoic leader, calm and controlled amid the tensions rising from the former daimyo's assassination.

 _Even a sword forged from the strongest steel will crack._

Aoi remembered Butsuma's blunt dismissiveness, his unsympathetic eyes regarding the chafed skin – specks of red in a sea of blue-black – on her elbow as if she'd deserved it.

For what?

Rejecting shinobi training for a 'mundane' life as Miyako's apprentice?

The night Aoi and her father had met Butsuma to decline his offer, when it'd seemed like Manabu's arguments were falling apart, Miyako had strolled in unannounced. The two grown men had looked at the old woman as if she was an apparition, except she was very much alive, breathing, and leaning on a bamboo cane. All she did was put in a few words in Manabu's defence – _"I have no progeny. This child will take on my ancestral duty in preserving the clan's historical archives."_ –and the case was closed.

It's not an easy task, Miyako had later warned Aoi. Part of the job was ensuring sensitive information on the clan didn't fall into the wrong hands. A cavernous strong room, its heavy double doors covered in seals, beneath her house contained decades-old maps, records detailing past conflicts, encounters with other clans and unknown jutsu, poisons and the likes that made Aoi's skin crawled when she was brought down for a tour.

A heavy sigh escaped Aoi.

Thus far, Miyako had been continuing their lessons in reading and writing. Aoi came a long way from leaving entrails of black ink but it's far from perfection. Until her skill with the brushes improved to Miyako's satisfaction, transcribing remained her teacher's role.

Adjusting the books' weight in her tired arms, Aoi rolled her shoulders in a bid to relieve the tightness there.

The barking of dogs echoed in the air.

Curious, she followed the ruckus to the back of a warehouse.

…

Manabu eyed the ball of fur curled up in Aoi's lap. After days of being bedbound, he'd recovered most of his strength to move about. Though his cough hadn't disappeared. It'd be another two days before he'd return to work.

"So," he began. "You found the kitten cornered by two guard dogs?" He judged the kitten his daughter brought home was about two months old. The bulge sandwiched between its front and hindlegs bobbed in its sleep as it recovered from its large meal.

Aoi nodded. "Can I keep it?" she asked the inevitable. "Pleaaaase?"

Those wide, pleading azure eyes unfazed Manabu. "Keeping it is one thing, Aoi. You'll need to make sure its fed and clean. Look after it when it's sick."

"I can do that. Easy-peasy."

"Easy-peasy, huh?" Manabu chuckled wryly. His hands bore scratches and bite marks from washing the kitten with a damp cloth. Thankfully, the lacerations weren't deep.

Aoi squared her shoulders, dead set on keeping the kitten.

The tiny furball was huddled against the warehouse's backwall when she'd found it, spitting and snarling at the canine pair despite being outsized. She'd recognised the guard dogs by their collars, but dogs were dogs. Those two were _huge_. But she couldn't abandon the kitten to fend for itself. It'd taken a lot of nerves to approach the dogs from behind, much less shoo them away.

"The kitten's a stray," said Tsubo, stirring a pot of chicken stew on the stove. It'd arrived in a pitiful state. "Poor thing. It must've been living on scraps around the warehouse. It's not a bad thing. It'll be a good opportunity for Aoi to start learning about a different kind of responsibility."

Manabu weighed the pros and cons in his head.

In a last-ditch effort, Aoi scooped up the kitten, walked over to her father and deposited it on his lap. Jostled awake by the move, it stood unsteadily on its paws, balancing itself on his thighs, and lifted a pair of blue eyes.

Manabu met its quizzical stare. "Fine. It can stay," he eventually sighed in defeat.

"Thank you!" squealed Aoi, throwing herself on her father, and nuzzled into the hollow of his neck. "You're the best, otou-chan!"

Manabu's heart melted. He ruffled her hair affectionately, causing her to giggle. From the stove, Tsubo smiled at the two.

"Now that's settled. You have to think of a name for the kitten," said Manabu, as his daughter extracted herself from him.

"But I don't know if it's a boy or girl."

"Easy-peasy."

Manabu grabbed the kitten by its scruff, assuring an agitated Aoi that it wouldn't hurt the feline, and looked under. "Boy," he announced, lowering the kitten onto the tatami.

Aoi blinked. "How do you know just by looking there?"

Manabu erupted in a fit of coughs. At the sight of his flushed neck and face, Tsubo doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach. Her parents' reactions contrasted strongly with each other, a flummoxed Aoi could only stare while stroking the kitten.

"All in good time. _Your dearest mother_ ," Manabu sent his wife a pointed look,"will tell you when you're older."

Tsubo nodded, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. She let the stew simmer on the stove and sat down beside her sulking husband. "What about its name, Aoi?" she reminded.

Aoi studied the fur beneath her hand. Her eyes lit up. "Shirogane."

"Shirogane?" Tsubo echoed, incredulous. _Platinum?_

"Come now, Aoi. Be reasonable," Manabu beseeched. "Why not just Shiro?"

"He's not white." The kitten's coat was closer to wood ash.

To her parents' ears, Shirogane sounded like a name one would bestow a weapon. Tsubo scowled at her husband for opening his mouth, now that Aoi liked the name even more. In the end, they couldn't sway their daughter and gave up.

* * *

 _Tobirama frowned. The hands resting on his shoulders were warm and tender, but the silent plea could be felt through waves, keeping him rooted to the spot._

" _I don't want to do it. Get Hashirama. Or Itama." His younger brother seemed to have developed a one-sided crush on the girl since Shichi-Go-San. He hoped it's just a fleeting thing. "Anyone but me."_

" _Please?" entreated Kiyohana. "I heard from Tsubo-san that Aoi-chan loves reading. I'm sure you two will get along."_

 _Two people sharing a common interest becoming friends? Only worked in fictions._

 _The girl in question, her red hair, was visible from afar against the snowy backdrop. Her small figure stood beneath the shade of a plum tree that had flowered before the snow shower arrived, blanketing the valley in a white cloak._

" _I feel bad for the child. She doesn't have anyone her age to play with."_

" _I'm a shinobi. I don't fool around."_

" _Come now. You hang around with your brothers."_

" _Siblings are different!"_

 _Kiyohana walked around her son and stooped to his level, the snow crunching beneath her feet. She placed her gloved hands together like a prayer and puckered her lips in a pout. Eyes as vivid red and beautiful as the plum blossoms gazed pleadingly._

 _Once, Tobirama had witnessed her using the same move on his father. There'd been an argument. His mother was about to give in, when she'd suddenly leaned over his father's shoulder, planted a kiss on his cheek, catching him off guard. Tobirama had gagged. Adults were gross._

" _Please, Tobirama? Just a simple hello?"_

 _Tobirama stubbornly averted his eyes. In his periphery, his mother's hair looked dark in the snow; their hair tended to be mistaken for white at first glance. His gaze travelled to the plum tree. The girl was still there._

 _His shoulders sagged. "Fine. One hello and we go home. It's getting very cold."_

" _Thank you," beamed Kiyohana._

 _Tobirama kicked the snow as he trudged up to the tree. How did a casual stroll turn into this?_

 _The girl was standing on the toes of her straw boots, arms stretched high above her, trying to reach the flowers overhead._

 _He arched an eyebrow, taking in her winter garb._

 _He'd always been bad with the cold and it's downright freezing today. He's swaddled in thick woolly layers, only his eyes and strands of hair that'd escaped his hat were visible. Meanwhile, the girl was wrapped only in a scarf and haori, and a pair of fluffy earmuffs on her head._

" _Eeek!"_

 _Arms flailing wildly, the girl tottered for a few precarious moments before regaining her footing. She stepped back, blowing her hair from her face, and glared at the tree. She tried jumping with outstretched arms. The flowers remained out of reach. She let out a frustrated cry._

 _Tobirama couldn't watch any longer._

 _With a groan, the branch was pulled down, dislodging the powdery snow. The girl caught a delicate twig around her fingers on reflex, blinking at the red flowers that'd suddenly appeared before her eyes. A lovely sweet fragrance filled her nose. She peered over the blossoms._

* * *

A full moon hung in an obsidian sea of twinkling constellations. Not a wisp of cloud in sight. No snow on the ground or plum blossoms. The spring chill in the evening air was tolerable.

Trees were bursting with cherry blossoms weighing down their branches, showering the revellers gathered below in white and pink petals. Lanterns were restricted to a fixed number, so everyone could enjoy the ethereal beauty of the sakura trees bathed in silvery moonlight. The atmosphere was buzzing. Bento boxes overflowing with scrumptious food, sake, the enticing aroma of sizzling meat from barbeque grills, the thrums of a shamisen, drunken men belting out-of-tune songs on top of their lungs.

Here, the war ceased to exist in their minds.

It's almost sinful.

Tobirama strolled through the crowd, skirting around picnics.

If one were to look, the subtle reminders were there. The wide gap between a mother and her teenage child. The man with the long scar crawling along the side of his face, three fingers missing from the hand holding his sake cup. Another limping on crutches towards his friends. The list went on. Then, there were the children. There's a girl who's missing her right leg. A boy sitting hunched, picking at his food despondently.

Tobirama thought of his brothers. What if that boy was Itama? What if Hashirama was the one without a leg? And Kawarama –

He lengthened his strides, forcing his mind on his moving feet and back on his destination.

He ran a hand along an invisible scar. Sometimes, he could feel a phantom sting where a sharp edge of the twig had clipped him on the chin three winters ago, and the awful taste of plum blossoms in his mouth before he'd spit them out.

Tobirama had yelled at the girl, demanding an apology as droplets of blood trickled from the gash on his chin, turning the snow between his feet red. She'd refused, on account that it's his fault for startling her. Neither of them would admit their wrongs, prompting a snowball fight. Had their mothers – Tsubo had been visiting a patient's home nearby – not pulled them apart, he was sure it would've turned ugly. He was winning (without a doubt) and noticed the girl kept throwing calculative glances at the jagged rocks by her feet. Since then, whenever they crossed paths, they glared at each other until one of them backed down, which usually ended with a chagrined redhead storming off, blushing in humiliation.

That was before the war. Nowadays, he'd seen less and less of her as his father kept sending him off into the battlefields. Perhaps it's for the best.

Tobirama stopped in front of an enormous granite boulder. He traced the deep fracture running up the moss-covered rock, eyes travelling to the thick bark protruding from the top, and finally, resting on the white blossoms hanging from the branches.

A whispering young couple drifted by.

"This year's blossoms are beautiful."

"Right? That tree looks splendid as usual."

 _Ishiwari Zakura._ The Rock-Splitting-Sakura-Tree.

It's said that the tree sprouted from a seed that had somehow – perhaps by a twist of fate – fallen into a tiny crack in the granite three hundred years ago. As the tree grew, it pushed the crack wider, splitting the boulder cleanly in half. It'd lived through two major earthquakes and extreme weathers. For centuries, the Senju cherished this tree and revered it as a symbol of strength and perseverance.

Keeping his eyes on the sakura tree, Tobirama paced the length of the granite. He rounded the corner. A glimpse of red froze him in his steps. He stared at the figure in disbelief.

He'd been thinking about the girl, and now she's standing there, just a few feet away, gazing at the blossoms far beyond her reaches with a hint of longing. She's too solid to be a figment of his imagination.

Sensing being watched, she tore her eyes away and glanced at him. Blood drained from her face; many had laid eyes on him and reacted the same way.

' _She remembers, huh,'_ Tobirama mused, watching her flee, the red ponytail swinging wildly behind her. When did she start growing her hair?

His mother's silky voice floated over, calling him. Seconds later, the pitter-patter of slippers announced her appearance.

"There you are, Tobirama. I knew you'd be here."

Tobirama turned around. He took in the hollows in her cheeks, the deep lines etched across her face. Her makeup couldn't hide them as it did for the dark circles beneath her eyes. She'd lost a few pounds since war recommenced. The obi cinched around her tiny waist helped secure her komon in place, and the fabric hung loosely from her shoulders.

From the subtle tautness in his jawline, Kiyohana could tell what's troubling Tobirama. No matter how perfect he masked his feeling, she knew him from the inside out; he's too much like his father this way.

War was all Kiyohana had ever known, growing up and fighting on the frontlines, and in retirement after marriage. As matriarch, she'd watched over the clan in her husband's stead while he's away from the valley, picked up her weapons and defended her home from the odd invasion attempts, drove out enemies, sentenced incarcerated spies to death. As wife and mother, she's made of nothing but worries and heartache. For her husband. For her sons; four of them, all very young.

Kiyohana pushed the dark thoughts away. Her soul had never diminished. Tonight, all her boys, man and children, were together in one place.

"Come on, everyone's waiting," she smiled. "We can't start without you. Hashirama's barely containing himself."

As they strolled side by side, Tobirama glanced furtively at his mother. She looked cheerful, and that's all it mattered to him. That, and he's glad she hadn't noticed the redhead.

...

"What's the matter?" asked Tsubo, as her daughter took up the spot between herself and Manabu. "Did something happen? Your face is red."

"I was running," replied Aoi, grabbing the bamboo flask as if to prove her point. With a _pop_ , the cork came off. She poured herself a cup of water, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

On the other side of their picnic, Yui squinted. "Ahhhh ~ I seeeee," she sang. "You met a cute boy."

Aoi's glad she wasn't holding the flask anymore, or she'd spill the water everywhere.

Her father, however, was less fortunate. He'd been sipping from his cup and choked into his sake, spewing the liquid from his mouth. Tsubo, scolding him, rubbed circles on his back as coughs racked his body. He waved her off, wiping the sake from his lips and chin.

"Is that true, Aoi? Why haven't you told your parents? How old is he? Who's his father? Actually. Never mind that. Who is he?" he rattled on.

"No one!" exclaimed Aoi, red splotches staining her freckled cheeks.

Yui wagged a finger. "You can't deceive your auntie, Aoi-chan. I can see it in your eyes."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, she's only nine!" snapped Tsubo.

"Ten, this autumn," Yui sniffed, lifting her chin. "There's something called puppy-love." She wore a silly grin. "And love at first sight."

"Aoi, you're far too young," Manabu began to lecture.

"I'm telling you, it's not like that!" came the exasperated reply.

Yui's eyes sparkled. "Oho! So, there _is_ a boy!"

"Yes – I mean, no," Aoi floundered, her brain refusing to work properly. "Okaa-chan!"

"Yui! That's enough alcohol for you tonight. You too, anata. Especially _you_. You've just gotten better." Tsubo started confiscating the sake bottles, drawing a collective moan of protests from her husband and sister.

A distinctively male's voice chuckled.

"It's rather lively over here." Kazuo arrived with his wife. They were recently married. "Sorry for the intrusion. I hope we're not bothering you all."

"'course not!" Yui waved them over. "Come join us."

Aoi silently thanked their timely arrival as the newly-wedded couple sat down. Food and sake, which Tsubo had reluctantly put down much to her sister's delight, were passed around. It wasn't long before _the boy_ was dropped from the conversation. The rest of Manabu's squad, Den and Atsushi, popped by at different times to greet them. Kazuo and his wife stayed.

As the moon rose higher, Manabu's speech grew slurred. Knocking back his cup, he downed the last dreg. He swayed happily. His belly was warm. He felt fuzzy all over. His wife's voice wrapped around him and he leaned into her.

"Anata?" she probed.

"Isn't the moon beautiful?"

Tsubo blushed. "S-seriously, you! You're drunk!" She slapped him on the shoulder.

He lifted his head and stared deep into her caramel eyes. "I _am_ serious."

If it's possible, Tsubo's face turned redder.

"Work that charm, Manabu-nii!" Yui cheered.

Kazuo was roaring with laughter. "Talk about second-hand embarrassment!"

"Quite, young man!" blurted Manabu, jabbing a wobbly finger at him. "When you're my age, you stop caring about these things."

At the blank look on Aoi's face, Yui leaned down and whispered conspiringly, "It's a popular phrase among the old folks, I can't believe Manabu-nii just said that." She broke off with a giggle. "It's an indirect way of saying 'I love you'."

Tsubo flashed her sister a murderous look. "Watch what you're whispering in her ears, Yui. I can hear you!"

Yui ignored her sister's threat. "Take my advice, sweetie. If a boy ever said that to you, stay away from him. A male who's not honest with his feelings can't be trusted."

Aoi frowned in confusion. Her parents looked happy, especially her mother. She shrugged and returned her attention to her sakuramochi. What did it matter to her?

* * *

 **Hello my dear readers! Thank you for the long wait. I had a relative from abroad visiting for two weeks. That said, I wasn't sure where to end this chapter. I understand there's nothing much going on, but please bear in mind that two years (almost three) had passed between this and the previous chapter. It's a bit of filling in some gaps, and a look into the effects of war, both on children and adults alike. There will be more of the latter. Consider this chapter the beginning of a new arc. There's going to be a lot more happenings starting from the next chapter. Once again, thank you for waiting.**

 **On a side note, the Ishiwari Zakura mentioned here is based on the real Ishiwari Zakura in Morioka, Japan.**

 **Thanks for the review, favs and follows! Please let me know what you think of this chapter or the characters. What you're hoping to see in future chapters.**

 **Until next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

_Tobirama's world was burning._

 _Crackling. Roaring. Hissing. Spitting._

 _Fire scorched the earth, throwing up tongues of flame and columns of black smoke spiralling towards a red-tinted sky._

 _It choked his lungs. The fetor of burning trees and human flesh filled the air, he tasted them in his parched mouth as he breathed through gritted teeth. It was muggy and sweltering hot, his clothes stuck to his sweaty body like a second skin._

'I must hurry,' _he found himself thinking, his blood-stained sword cutting a path through the burning forest._

 _Clashes between the Uchiha and Senju were scattered all over the forest. He hadn't seen his father in the chaos that'd ensued when a whirling inferno howled to life and ripped through the battleground. How much time had passed?_

 _Tobirama probed around and felt the familiar chakra signature in the northeast. Its presence lingered at the back of his mind like a comforting thought._

 _He switched his focus to the chakra trailing behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't suppress the tightening in his chest. Kawarama, his youngest brother at a tender age of six, met his eyes with a quizzical look._

 _There was a loud crack._

 _Tobirama brought them to a halt as a burning tree came crashing right down in their path. The ground beneath their feet shook from the impact._

 _A metal flashed._

 _He swung his sword out to deflect the barrage of shuriken with practised ease._

 _An Uchiha burst through the dancing flames, lips peeled back with a harsh war cry. His eyes glowed crimson._

 _Tobirama leapt back, shielding his brother, and braced himself._

* * *

A yawn escaped Tobirama.

Keeping a steady grip on his fishing road, the eleven-year-old groped around with his free hand for his flask.

The water was a touch too hot for a scorching summer day, and it burnt his throat. He forced himself to chug down the fluid. Heat stroke was no joke. The shaded spot he'd picked could only provide some relief. Though it's much better than roasting directly under the sun.

A trout swam lazily in the water inside his bucket. It was almost noon, and he hasn't had similar luck for the past three hours or so.

He patted the sweat from his forehead with the flimsy towel draped over the back of his neck. He shifted around to a more comfortable sitting position, tucking one leg towards him and letting the other lying curled on its side. He rested his elbow on his knee and leaned against his knuckles.

The river glinted in the sunlight, its tranquil surface reflecting a cloudless sky as if someone had painted the river like a canvas.

The water looked tempting. Tobirama considered asking his brothers to join him for a swim, then remembered Hashirama and Itama had left early this morning with a company of two dozen troops for the western border of the Fire Country. Their father would join them in a week's time. Meanwhile, Kawarama was recuperating at home, watched over by their mother.

The memory fast-forwarded to three weeks ago and played in fragments.

 _Tobirama was at home, putting on his happuri. He was, then, helping Kawarama strap on his plated armours._

 _There was a hint of sorrow behind the smile their mother wore as she saw her husband and sons off at the gate, an unspoken plea in her red eyes when they found Tobirama's._

 _Suddenly, he was transported to the battlefield. His father's imposing back stood in front of him. To Tobirama's right, Kawarama was still as a statue, excitement and nerves radiating off him. War shells from both sides blared. The Senju lurched forward as one. A vortex of fire setting the forest ablaze. Ashes and sparks flying into the air. Tobirama streaking through the burning forest, Kawarama hot on his heels. A flame enshrouded tree plummeting towards the earth. An Uchiha emerging from the fire. A pair of hate-filled Sharingan glaring at them. Tobirama fending off the Uchiha's strikes. A worried glance behind. A foot flying at the edge of his periphery. Pain exploding from his stomach, knocking the wind out of his lungs. The glint of a sword. A hand yanking him back. Kawarama darting forward to take his place, ducking under the Uchiha's sword. The look of surprise on the Uchiha's face as Kawarama lodged his kunai straight where his heart was. The Uchiha man lying face-down in a pool of his own blood. Kawarama leaning down, his tiny hand outstretched towards his brother. The Uchiha's blood smearing the baby soft skin._

" _Are you alright, Tobirama-nii?" Kawarama's feathery voice asked._

He had failed.

He hadn't reacted fast enough. He'd failed to protect his brother's innocence.

Was there a point?

Sooner or later, his brother would've made his first kill whether Tobirama was there to prevent it.

The recent clash with the Uchiha proved Kawarama was skilled beyond children his age and older. It was his first participation in a real battle, and yet he'd taken down several adults more than twice his size.

Tobirama couldn't rid the image from his head. There was something inherently wrong – seeing his six-year-old brother standing in attention, basking in their father's praises as the adults showered the young shinobi with pats on his tiny shoulders. They'd gone on expressing their hopes of seeing similar feats in the future, wanted to know how he'd felt in the moment the Senju emerged the victor.

Accomplished? Proud? Driven?

Nobody knew.

Kawarama had collapsed soon after, exhausted.

Was Tobirama alright?

His brother was alive; the wounds were superficial and would heal with time and plenty of rest. But Tobirama felt restless, unsure if he could find it in him to face his little brother awake and sought solace at the river since returning two days. To think.

The platinum-haired boy heaved a long sigh. He switched out the bait for a fresh one and recast his fishing line. Somewhere an eagle screeched.

He stared at his reflection on the water. He was seven when he made his first did his enemy look like? What was the expression on their face when they drew their last breath?

With a jolt of surprise, Tobirama realised he couldn't remember.

He sifted through his memories and came out empty-handed each time. Perhaps it's better this way…

Twigs crunched underfoot.

A few yards to Tobirama's left, a girl emerged from behind a weeping willow.

Pebbles clicked and clacked as she trudged towards the river, dragging her feet along the ground. A wicker basket was strapped onto her back. Her straw hat sat lopsided on her head, obscuring her face from view. She came to a stop at the edge of the water, throwing her arms up for a stretch. There were two thuds as the basket and a leather bag hit the ground. A short red ponytail bounced free from under the hat as it was lifted. The girl tossed aside her hat, kicked off her slippers and dipped her feet into the river. Her freckled face, flushed from the heat, visibly relaxed.

Tobirama watched the redhead for a few moments before turning away, disinterested. It didn't seem like she'd seen him, and he was eager to keep it that way.

With the water lapping around her ankles, Aoi brought her dripping wet handkerchief over her face. She sighed into the handkerchief, savouring the water kissing her skin.

There was a loud splash, a thud of something falling over, and an indignant shout.

Startled, Aoi whipped her head around. She wasn't alone as she'd initially thought. Her eyes widened further at the boy and the kitten dangling from his hand by the scruff of its neck. That silver pelt, dark-tipped ears and bobtail…

Before she knew it, she was stumbling barefoot towards them, shouting, "Put him down! You're hurting Shirogane!"

"Shirogane?" Tobirama echoed. Bemused, he arched his eyebrows at the scrap of fur in his hand. Nope. Definitely not a sword.

The kitten wriggled free from his grasp. It landed gracefully on its four paws and scurried up to the redhead, carrying his trout in its mouth. At the sight of the furball tearing into the fish he caught, the ire, which had momentarily slipped at hearing the bizarre name, resurfaced again.

"Oi," Tobirama uttered, catching the girl's attention. Strands of amber-coloured locks had escaped her messy ponytail and clung to her damp face, framing a pair of glowering azure eyes. "That's your cat, right? How're you going to pay me back that trout your little crook stole?"

Aoi blushed at the accusation. Scrabbling for words, her eyes caught sight of the wooden bucket lying on its side at his feet, the pebbles around wet where the water had spilt over.

"M-maybe you should have paid more attention to your surroundings," she argued back. She squared her shoulders and furrowed her brows in a scowl, hoping it'd make her look less likely to be intimidated. "You wouldn't have gotten your fish taken by a mere kitten. And you call yourself a shinobi?"

Tobirama's eye twitched; she'd struck a nerve. He willed himself not to fall for her taunts, irritating as it was. "You should look after your kitten better. Do you even feed it?"

"He was a stray!" she snapped, affronted by the notion. "He can't help himself sometimes. Okaa-chan said it's normal behaviour."

Tobirama observed the kitten and sighed in exasperation. He relaxed his posture, perching a hand on his hip. "I'm not sure if you're told this," he said, evenly, "but you should stop your kitten from eating the fish. Too much raw meat will upset its stomach."

Aoi lapsed into a stunned silence. She couldn't tell if he's genuinely concerned or pulling her leg. She lowered her eyes to Shirogane. What if he's telling the truth? Crouching down, she nudged Shirogane profusely with her hand.

The stubborn feline growled and turned away, clinging to the fish.

Consciously aware of being watched, heat spread all over Aoi's face. She tried again, equally as determined as her kitten. In the end, she managed to coax her kitten from the fish with a distraction. A leaf. Holding a sulking kitten in her hands, she gingerly pushed the fish across the ground with the toes of her slipper.

"Here, you can have your fish back."

Tobirama wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't want it anymore. It's been eaten."

"Parts of it," she corrected.

"You –"

Shirogane broke free from her clutches, drawing questions on how he kept doing that from both children, and bounded up to Tobirama. He rubbed his head against his legs, making a noise that sounded between a purr and a meow.

"H-hey!" Tobirama flinched. The sensation of fur and whiskers brushing his ankles weirded him out. He shoved the kitten away with his foot. "Get off me!"

Aoi swept Shirogane into her arms and cradled him like a baby against her chest in a protective hold. "That's animal abuse," she glared at Tobirama. "Apologise this instant!"

"Why should I be apologising? I'm not the one whose cat stole a fish."

"If you have kept an eye on your stinky fish it wouldn't have happened in the first place."

Tobirama ran a frustrated hand through his mop of hair. This was turning into one of those pesky squabbles. He had better things. He turned sharply on his heels and walked back to gather his fallen bucket and fishing rod.

' _He's leaving!'_ Aoi swelled with delight. She'd bested him this time. Jutting her chin out, she stuck out her tongue at his retreating back as he strode away from the river.

He stopped abruptly and made a sharp 180˚ turn.

Aoi took a cautious step back, the sole of her barefoot scuffing the gritty dirt and pebbles, as he marched up to her with long and confident strides. "W-what do you want?" she challenged, halting him in his steps.

Tobirama opened his mouth and closed it. Over the small distance, he studied her rosy face. Did she have that many freckles before?

Aoi shrunk back from his scrutiny, her earlier bravado withering away. Her eyes strayed to the scars on his bare arms. Some looked more recent than others, standing out against his fair complexion. There's no question how he'd gotten them. She hugged a purring Shirogane snug against her chest for comfort, growing uneasy and self-conscious.

"It's rude to stare, you know?" she eventually broke the silence. "You're creeping me out."

Tobirama blinked. If she'd startled him from his reverie, she couldn't tell. His face, smooth and impassive as a mask, betrayed nothing. He was unreadable. Guarded. Another blink, and the mask was gone.

"I'll be honest with you," he began. "I'm fed up."

"… What do you mean?"

His piercing red eyes bore into her azures with a significant look, Aoi found herself unable to look away from them.

...

Aoi had waited long enough, certain she wouldn't bump into _that jerk_ on the way back to the gate. She stomped through the forest, knocking the herbs against her basket's wall. Meows of protest rose from her arms.

She gave Shirogane a reproachful look. "This wouldn't have happened if you've stayed at home. Bad kitty. No treats for a week."

The feline went quiet, ears flattened against his head.

' _He must have snuck into the basket when I wasn't looking,'_ she deduced. _'My shoulders hurt because I've been carrying him around We'll have to moderate his meal portions from now on. Otou-chan spoils him too much.'_

Aoi berated herself. The basket had weighted strangely heavy for the scant tools she'd brought for this trip, but she'd quickly dismissed her suspicion, wanting to leave as soon as possible so that she could return home before noon. Neither was Shirogane at his usual spot on the porch, dozing after breakfast, and the guard dogs had barked madly at her as she passed through the gate.

The hints had been right under the nose the whole time. But what's done was done. There's no point crying over spilt milk. It's not as if she could reverse time.

Aoi slowed down to a leisure pace, feeling slightly out-of-breath. It's usually a fifteen minutes' walk on the trail to the gate from the river. With the way she was just now, the gate's probably less than ten minutes away.

Shirogane's ears were pricked up, tilting at the slightest sounds in the forest as the kitten took in his surroundings. Realising he's being watched, he looked up at the redhead with his big, round eyes and meowed adorably.

Honestly, it's hard to stay angry with him.

"Must be nice to be a cat," Aoi said, wistfully, lifting her eyes to gaze ahead. "I can't believe you slept through everything, Shirogane."

She'd handpicked the delicate herbs without using her tools and tossed them straight in the basket without a glance inside. Otherwise, she would've known about Shirogane. But it was unbearably hot, she'd been desperate to leave the mountain and worked at a brisk pace. The store had run out of the herbs Genta needed. Lately, the infirmary was busier than usual and required her mother's assistance, and since the doctor had to tend to house calls alone, Aoi had volunteered to replenish the herbs.

She ran through the list in her head. She had everything. She would go home, change into clean clothes, eat the onigiri her mother had left on the stove, cool down at the bathhouse, and nap for hours.

Excitement bubbled inside her.

Then _his_ face popped up in her mind, and her smile plummeted to the ground.

" _We're from the same clan and live in the same place. We can't avoid each other. Look, you're Miyako-sama's apprentice, right? Sooner or later, we will have to work together. I don't like it any more than you do, but it can't be helped. Of course, I'm not suggesting we become friends – if that'll make you feel better." He turned around and began to walk away. "Next time we meet again, I want this resolved."_

' _Arrogant jerk!'_ Aoi fumed. _'Who does he think he is, acting all high and mighty?'_ He might be the son of Butsuma and Kiyohana, but that didn't give him license to boss her around. It grated on her nerves.

A deep growl reeled Aoi back to the present. She tightened her hold around Shirogane as he twisted and turned his body, but the feline managed to slip from her arms yet again. The moment his paws touched the ground, he went sprinting after a squirrel. Aoi moaned in frustration and gave chase, her voice shouting for her kitten echoed through the forest.

...

Aoi staggered to a halt and keeled forward. Her hands flew out in front of her to catch a tree. She latched onto it for support, digging her fingernails into the moss-ridden bark as she caught her breath. Her heart pounded like a hammer against her ribcage.

Who installed this mad obstacle course in the forest? Several times, she'd almost tripped over something on the ground and was forced to climb over fallen trees and giant boulders. She lost count on the number of times she'd turned around to pick up a slipper.

Violent coughs racked through her body. Her throat and mouth were dry as the desert. Her lungs, every fibre in her body felt like they were on fire. She sank onto the forest floor, sweat trickling between her brows. Her chest heaved with each laboured breath. She swallowed the urge to throw up and tore off her straw hat, which had miraculously stayed on her head.

She fumbled for her bottle in her bag. There was almost half of the water she'd filled at a spring in the mountain left. She took a couple of greedy swigs and forced herself to put the bottle away.

She leaned back, knocking her basket against the tree. She'd forgotten about the blasted thing. She held it aloft, shoulders and legs throbbing with pain. She had half the mind to tip the basket over and dump the herbs here.

Here… Exactly where was _here_?

Lowering the basket slowly to her lap, Aoi glanced around. She'd never seen this part of the forest before. Perhaps she might have stepped off the trail without her realisation. Then, it was a simple case of finding it and she could go home. But where was Shirogane? She couldn't leave without him. She swore he'd come through here.

Aoi struggled to her feet and, after a few moments hesitation, looped her arms through the basket's straps. As she searched for her missing kitten, looking out for glimpses of his silver pelt, she studied the forest around her.

The longer she looked, the more she's convinced that she'd never once set foot in this place with her father. He'd once said that parts of the forest were older than the Senju clan themselves, remaining unexplored and mysterious even to a seasoned adventurer such as Miyako. Aoi wondered if this was one of them. The forest had a very ancient feel. Mosses covered almost every inch of the forest floor, growing on trees and boulders that littered the ground like a cluttered motif. Lichens and crawling vines draped from tree branches. Gnarly roots, thicker than a full-grown adult's arms, grew out of the ground; there were trees that looked as if they'd been taking a stroll and were suddenly petrified. It felt like she'd walked into the books she'd been reading, she half-expected glowing plankton-like creatures floating from a tree hollow, or a crack in the ground.

"Shirogane!" Aoi called.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called again and again. She paused each time, holding a breath for a faint meow.

"Where did he go?" she murmured dismally, stopping beneath a tree.

The path ahead didn't look traversable. The terrain was uneven and deceptive where beds of mosses grew between the rocks, she had to watch her steps earlier. This hill in front of her was packed with boulders stacked on top of one another.

Aoi shuddered away from the idea of wandering deeper in an unfamiliar forest. Yet, the guilt of abandoning Shirogane gnawed at her conscience. Her mother would be upset; her father devasted. Aoi herself would be heartbroken. Having Shirogane around had made these past four months more pleasant. Somehow, he's able to sense when she was feeling down.

A snap pierced the air, causing her to whirl around.

Where did that come from?

Aoi suppressed a shiver, eyes darting about nervously. She wasn't a shinobi but even she could feel someone… or something was watching her.

Her head turned so fast at a squeak, she cricked her neck, causing her to wince. There was a squirrel on a tree to her right, its dark eyes staring at her for a few seconds before scurrying up the trunk.

Aoi released a shaky breath. _'It's just a squirrel. Was it the same one Shirogane was chasing? He might be close. I'll check the bushes over there.'_

Something large fell out of the foliage overhead, right in front of her face, showering her with leaves. She jumped several feet back, mouth wide opened with a shrill scream.

"Hahahahahahahahahaha! That was funny!" a voice guffawed.

Aoi tilted her head back and gawked at the laughing boy. He was suspended upside-down from the tree beside her, legs hooked around a branch to keep him above ground, clutching his stomach in stitches. In fact, he was still chortling as she stared daggers at him.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," he choked between tears of mirth, holding his hands in front of him in a placating manner. At the dubious look on her face, he quietened down and gave her a sheepish smile. "No, I mean it. Here – I'll show you." He vanished into the foliage and reappeared moments later, holding her kitten in his hands "This is what you're looking for, right?"

"Shirogane!" gasped Aoi, throwing her arms up for the boy to pass her kitten over. She cuddled the feline to her chest, overjoyed at feeling his warmth. Shirogane nuzzled his face against her jawline, purring up a storm. "Are you alright? Geez, don't you go off like that again. You worried me."

She glanced up at the thud of feet hitting the ground. The boy stood with his hands on his hips, looking _very_ pleased with himself. He was about her height, possibly an inch taller, and dressed in a kinagashi.

Remembering her manners, Aoi bowed deeply. "Thank you for your kindness. He was chasing a squirrel through the forest. I wouldn't have found him if it weren't for you."

"Pleasure's mine," the boy grinned. "You have a pretty chilled cat there. He was trying to find a way down the tree and meowing when I found him. Mine will yowl so loud, I'm not surprised if the whole country hears him."

"I wish mine was loud," Aoi grumbled, scratching Shirogane behind his ears. "He's usually more vocal when he wants food."

"Isn't that normal for cats?" the boy chuckled. It had a strange infectious effect, Aoi couldn't help but smile along.

"I guess so."

"Shirogane, is it?" He pointed at her kitten. "That's a cool name."

Aoi's eyes lit up with joy. This was the first time someone made a compliment. "You think so? My parents disagreed and tried to change my mind."

"It is a rather… unusual name for a cat. But I can see why you've picked that." He scratched his cheek. "By the way, where are you from?"

Aoi stopped herself, the short breath she'd inhaled for the reply lodged in her throat. Her father's warning rang like alarm bells in her head.

" _If you meet someone in the forest who doesn't recognise you, be wary of them. He's not a Senju."_

With her identifiable looks, a Senju would know who she was at first glance. A kid this old would recognise her, and he looked around her age. Heck, even the younger ones in the clan do.

Fair skin, black spiky hair that stuck at weird angles at the back, and inky black eyes. These three aspects were fairly common amongst the Senju, but the boy in front of her gave no indication of recognising Aoi – she tried to remember if she'd seen his face before but failed. He had a carefree air about him. But for all she knew, he could be a shinobi in plain outfit.

"You don't' look like one of those Senju," the boy mused aloud, tapping an index finger on his hip in a slow rhythm. He tilted his head. "Nor am I getting the impression that you're a shinobi. Are you from one of the nearby villages?" His tone was one of genuine curiosity, not suspicion.

For once, Aoi was glad for the hot weather. She was starting to sweat nervously beneath her summer komon. There were no visible signs of weapons but that didn't mean he wasn't carrying them under his sleeves. The best way forward was to assume the worse. _Always._

She wouldn't fall for his trick twice; he'd managed to get her guard down by acting friendly. Best to keep a cool head. She couldn't outrun a shinobi, but she might be able to outwit him with whatever was left of them to get out of this predicament.

"Yes, I am," replied Aoi, hoping the quavering voice was all in her head. "I was foraging herbs –" she angled her body to show him the basket "— before my kitten escaped. Didn't know he was hiding in my basket the whole time," she gave a feeble laugh.

The two pools of ink narrowed. "I was told there are a lot of potent medicinal herbs growing in this forest," he said. "But I should warn you. This place is dangerous for a person like you."

"Really? Doesn't feel like that to me."

"I'm not lying. Not everything you see in front of you is what it seems," he said in a cryptic manner, wearing a deceptively amicable smile. It brought back the message that Aoi was dealing with something – or rather, someone – dangerous. This boy was a shinobi. There's no doubt about it. "This may be a neutral zone," he went on, conversationally, "but this forest is crawling with uncultured ruffians and scoundrels. You might not get lucky next time."

Aoi swallowed apprehensively, wondering if the _uncultured ruffians and scoundrels_ referred to bandits or the Senju. "I'll keep that in mind." She mustered a tiny smile. "Thanks."

"No problem!" he chirped, back to his previous buoyant self. "You're a long way from home, aren't you? Do you want me to escort you back? I'll give you a good discount."

' _If he's not a shinobi, then he'll make a pretty convincing businessman one day_.' She eyed his toothy grin warily."Thanks for the offer but I can get back myself fine." She'd need to work out how. "I got here on my own in the first place." No thanks to Shirogane and that squirrel.

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "Suit yourself. You've been warned though."

A voice resonated in the air.

The boy reacted as if it's calling him, glancing up the hill behind them. Aoi craned her head to look. A figure stood atop the summit, silhouetted against the sun. Their face was shrouded in shadows, she couldn't make out their features.

"That'll be my brother," said the boy, voice heavy with disappointment. "I better go before I get whooped." He turned around, an apologetic smile on his lips. "I guess this is farewell. I hope you don't get yourself killed. You're too interesting."

He raised an index finger before she could fire back a retort and gestured the back of his head.

Puzzled, Aoi adjusted her hold on Shirogane and lifted a hand to her hair. Her ponytail had come loose in messy red curls, cascading around her shoulders. Much to her relief, the silk handkerchief her father gifted her was tangled in her locks. It hung at a precarious manner, she's surprised it hadn't fallen off.

With a final cheeky wink over his shoulder, the boy sprang into the air, hopping from one boulder to the next up to his brother. The two figures turned around in unison, their backs to Aoi, and disappeared in a wink of an eye.

…

Aoi had followed the sound of gushing water and found a border patrol on their lunch break, lounging by a waterfall that plunged into a dark pool below. After explaining her situation and apologised, she received a mild reprimand from the squad's captain. She was lucky she'd bumped into them, she was told.

The men were having grilled fishes freshly caught from the river and invited her to join them. Aoi and Shirogane wolfed down theirs like it was their last meals, much to their amusement.

She was later taken back to the gate by one of the border guards.

Before parting ways, the friendly guard promised to convey her plea to his teammates to not let her parents know of her misadventure. Aoi hadn't been sure if the captain would oblige to a nine-year-old's request and rat her out to her father. To her relief, the days passed without incident.

* * *

It was two weeks later that she returned to the 'Old Forest', as she'd come to call it. She couldn't get it out of her mind. Something about the forest drew her, and she kept going back.

Trying to find a good time to go was tricky. She had lessons most days in a week and could only go when both her parents were working. Things had gradually settled down at the infirmary, her mother would come home for lunch. Which meant that Aoi could only set out in the afternoons. Thankfully, her father was on day shifts patrolling the other side of the valley.

A gentle summer breeze caressed Aoi's face. She removed her hat. It was a fine day, not too hot, with small patches of clouds drifting idly across the sky. The August sun shone through the canopies, throwing shafts of light onto her path.

The trek from the gate to her destination was roughly around an hour without stops in between. Getting to the Old Forest was straightforward. It'd gurgled and glimmered behind the treelines throughout the journey from the waterfall to the trail outside the gate when the guard had escorted her back. It was a simple matter of walking against the flow of the river – the very same river the platinum-haired boy came to fish.

His irksome voice would find a way into her thoughts, hovering around her like a poltergeist. She'd seen him, a solitary figure framed between the trees gazing out at the teal river, on days when she wasn't embarking on a clandestine trip. She wasn't sure what to make of his strange offer and walked the extra distance down the river, dreading a confrontation.

With a resolute shake of her head, she pushed him out of her head and concentrated on her moving feet.

The moment she felt a shift in the atmosphere, she knew she'd entered the Old Forest. It wasn't intangible, the change existing everywhere. Left, right, up and down. She marvelled at the moss-blanketed forest around her, dressed in the emerald green of summer. It was akin to walking through a window into a different world, untouched by humans for thousands of years.

This was her third trip.

Nothing had happened.

Yet.

The raven-haired boy's warning stuck. Frankly, Aoi was more fearful of running into a border patrol. She dared not wander far, doubting there'd be a second chance if she met the same squad. If caught, her parents would likely bar her from ever stepping foot outside the gate. She would forever be confined behind the clan walls.

She was playing with fire. She'd debated whether to make this trip her last. But the thrill and awe of this adventure, the excitement of knowing her surreptitious activities hadn't been discovered and planning the next were addictive.

' _I'll consider it,'_ she decided, crouching down to examine a patch of daisies.

She felt the soft thumps against her back and froze, her hand stretched towards the flowers. She leaned back, hearing the few mushrooms she'd picked along the way rolling across the basket's bottom and hitting the basket's wall. She shook off the paranoia. There's nothing to worry about. Shirogane was at home, and she'd checked her basket before leaving and outside the gate if he'd snuck in there.

This time, Aoi was alone.

The kind that brought peace and solitude, instead of the crushing ache when she saw a group of kids together – laughing, joking and chattering away. There's a part of her that wished to join in. To hang around with children her age.

But it's hard.

She hadn't the courage or confidence to befriend one, let alone talk. She's not a shinobi like them, too conscious of how very different she looked from the rest of them, and the mass of freckles didn't help. Hashirama and Itama were the only kids in the clan who'd approach her on their own incentives. While she'd spoken to them, it was fleeting and only on a few occasions. She rarely saw them, busy with their own lives as it was.

Aoi thoughts drifted to the raven-haired boy. When was the last time a kid had openly talked to her without looking at her strangely? Albeit, he was quite shifty himself.

' _I wonder if I'll see him again? Maybe he'll tell me about his cat._ ' The wishful thought brought a tiny smile to her lips.

Clutching a small bunch of daisies, Aoi rose from her haunches.

Her eyes fell on a tattered strip of cloth ensnarled in the bush in front of her.

She shoved the flowers inside her sash and extricated the cloth from the twigs. It was filthy, sullied in dried mud with spatters of dark splotches, and frayed at the edges. On the other side, there was a figure drawn in black ink, barely distinguishable against the grime – but not unidentifiable. She'd seen it everywhere in the base that she could recognise the crest of the Senju despite more than half a piece was missing.

She rubbed a pensive thumb over the washed-out crest. There's no mistake. It's a headband shinobi like her father wore around their foreheads.

Did someone drop this? For a moment, she contemplated on bringing it home. The headband was old and dirty… and there was something _disturbing_ about the dark brown stains. It looked like –

Aoi threw the ragged headband back on the bush before she could finish that line of thought. She shuffled back on her feet until she was at a comfortable distance from the bush. She wiped her hands down on her komon, vigorously as if she'd touched something 'unclean'.

Something wet fell on her head.

Aoi reached up and felt the wetness coating her fingers. _'Water?'_ She tilted her head back. Through the gaps in the canopies, dark clouds were gathering in the sky and the rain began to trickle down in fat droplets.

...

The harsh pattering of rain hitting the tin roof filled the house. The heavy downpour hadn't let up since it started two hours ago. Outside, the wind howled. The storm shutters and doors clattered. A pounding on the door joined the cacophony.

An alarmed Kiyohana bustled from her husband's private study to answer the frantic knocks. A door to her left glided open as she whisked past. Tobirama and Kawarama poked their heads out from their bedroom.

The front door was thrust open, letting a blast of wind and rain rushed into the narrow corridor.

A gasp escaped Kiyohana. "Tsubo-san!"

The chestnut-haired woman was drenched from head to toe, holding a fist aloft as if to knock again. She was breathless, her shoulders rising and falling with exertion, as if she'd been running in the rain. Behind her, the deluge cascaded from a dark grey sky.

"Wha – come in. Quick." Kiyohana pulled the woman into the entryway. "Tobirama!" she shouted down the corridor. "Go fetch a towel for her!"

"Please," Tsubo breathed through clattering teeth, "it's my daughter."

"Your daughter?" Kiyohana whipped her head around. It took a moment to realise belatedly that the woman was not trembling from the rain, that she was crying.

"Aoi –" Tsubo choked as another sob rose, "– she's missing!"

* * *

 ** _ _ **Is it obvious who raven-haired boy is? Hmm...**__**

 ** _ _ **It's ridiculous since I've been wanting to write this chapter down for a long time, but I'm not exactly 100% satisfied. I couldn't stop editing some scenes. Hence, this late update.**_ Thank you for the kind reviews, favs and follows! To the two guest reviewers, I'm glad you like Hollyhock so far. Thank you to the guest who suggested adding the hurt/comfort genre. _**

**_I've come to an understanding that readers may find the children's ages confusing (thank you, AngelAmongTheStars. for pointing it out). I hope the list below this helps remove some doubts. These are their current ages starting from the previous chapter. It's hard to work out the exact age of Hashirama, Tobirama and Itama at the time of Kawarama's death in the canon naruto-verse. I wish there's something official :/_**

 ** _I will occasionally update this list in subsequent chapter: _**

**_Aoi - 9_**

 ** _Hashirama - 12_**

 ** _Tobirama - 11_**

 ** _Itama - 7_**

 ** _Kawarama - 6_**

 ** _Please don't hesitate to tell me what you think about this chapter. Thank you for reading!_**

 ** _edit: I forgot to add that the Old Forest is loosely based on the forest of Yakushima._**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Two hours ago**_

 _The bed of moss sunk under her weight like a sponge, sloshing muddy water all over her feet and ankles, seeping into the gaps between her toes._

 _Brushing away a stray lock from her face, Aoi paused on a hill and scanned her surroundings, disquiet adorning her features. The roar of the river was but a faint whisper in the background, a white noise amidst the endless hissing of rain. Had she been walking in circles? Or was she in a finger-like extension of the Old Forest? Her legs were sore and lead-heavy, she couldn't tell if she'd been climbing up or down the rugged terrain._

 _The path she took to get to the Old Forest had vanished. The river was swollen, its pristine water tainted in sediments and debris washed down from the mountains, flooding the immediate low-lying areas in gushing brown water. She had been reluctant to seek higher grounds. How would she find her way back? But as she was considering her options, she had taken another glance at the cloudy water, watching bushes and trees bigger than her house being snatched up by their roots and carried away in the strong current, and her mind was made up._

 _Aoi cast the thick blanket of pewter clouds an uneasy glance, raindrops drumming off her straw hat. She tucked her hands in her armpits and resumed walking, dragging her feet along the sodden ground._

 _The sun – wherever it's hiding – had yet begun to set, and the forest was dark as evening. Her eyes darted about nervously, heart thumping in her chest. The vines whipping in the wind looked eerily like restless snakes itching for a meal, and every quiver of shadows seemed to jump at her._

 _A faint growl stopped her dead in her tracks, her blood running cold. Through a sliver in the foliage, she saw a flash of white lighting up the overcast sky. Another flickered. The next manifested as a fork of lightning piercing through the atmosphere. All her thoughts and worries suddenly ceased to exist as she marvelled at the dazzling display, watching delicate tendrils branched out from the main body and crawled across the expanse._

 _Then it was gone._

 _A deafening crackle exploded over the canopies. Aoi squeaked in fright, slamming her hands over ears, and dropped down into a crouch. Her hat slipped off and toppled onto the ground. Rain pelted down on her, harder than ever, drenching her scalp and soaking through the thin fabric of her kimono._

 _She kept her eyes screwed shut, gritting her teeth together as she struggled to methodically breathe like her mother had taught her and quell the panic threatening to overwhelm her. The terrifying rumble of a dying thunder seeped through her hands and over the pounding of blood in her ears, rooting her to the spot, its death-like fingers wrapped around her wildly beating heart._

 _After what seemed like an eternity had passed, Aoi let out a shuddering breath. She peeled open her eyes. Tears flowing down her cheeks were washed away as fast as they formed in the rain._

 _She stood and turned around, too abruptly. The forest spun with her. She felt the ground slipping from under her left foot. Her body pitched backward and she was tumbling several feet through the air._

* * *

Kiyohana placed a steaming cup of golden liquid on the tatami and nudged the cup towards Tsubo. "Chamomile tea – it'll warm you up," she said, raising her voice a notch over the pounding rain and howling wind.

The fusuma were drawn. The two women were the only souls in the room; Kawarama in the bedroom his brothers shared. Kiyohana had taken a peep while passing by, carrying a fresh change of clothes for Tsubo, and was relieved as she was amazed to find her youngest sound asleep amid the havoc the storm was wreaking outside.

A boom of thunder juddered the roof over their heads, startling the matriarch. The storm shutters clattered. The whole house seemed to shake right down to its foundations.

Tsubo sat hunched in the borrowed kimono, a large towel swathed around her shoulders, staring blankly into the fire burning in the hearth. The chaos around them didn't register in her mind.

She reached for the cup, the tremors subsided by then. Her eyes were red and dry, the skin under them puffy. Her hair, which she always maintained neat and straight, hung in messy curls like a bird's nest around her pallid face.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the sweet herbal aroma, and tipped the cup towards her parted lips. Heat flowed down her throat, radiating through her body but her chest remained cold and empty as if caged in ice. She couldn't relax. How could she? Not when the gate sentries had affirmed one of her worst fears. That Aoi hadn't returned.

Tsubo cursed the two men. She didn't usually curse. The sentries weren't doing their jobs properly. They were supposed to raise the alarm when a vulnerable child failed to return after so much time had passed!

"Tobirama is a skilled sensor and one of our fastest shinobi. He'll find her," said Kiyohana, as if reading her thoughts. She hoped the confidence in her voice would console the distraught mother. Even a little. "He'll bring Aoi-chan home."

Tsubo shook her head, lowering a half-emptied cup onto the tatami. "It's not that I'm worried about," she spoke, slowly, wringing her fingers together if only to stop them shaking. "I do not doubt your son's abilities. It's just that… Aoi's extremely frightened of thunders."

It'd started two summers ago when the rainy season just began. A storm had arrived in the dead of the night while the three of them were asleep. Tsubo remembered it vividly – the screams that'd startled her and Manabu awake, the cries that made her blood curdle. Her husband had held onto Aoi as she clung onto him, sobbing uncontrollably into his sleepwear. Nothing they did or say could soothe her. Eventually, she had exhausted all her energy and fallen into a fitful sleep.

"That must have been horrible," Kiyohana breathed. She hesitated for a moment. "Does she still?"

Tsubo gave a bleak nod. "She gets very jumpy. Freezes up and cries once in a while, but it used to be as bad as you've heard."

She always wondered if it's something her daughter had long before her memory loss. Whether it's connected to the night Manabu's patrol found her. There had been a typhoon after all.

"I should have known better than let her roam freely outside the gate." Tsubo clutched her head, the half of her face that was visible behind her hand scrunched up with anguish. "What was I thinking? She's out there all alone, stranded in the storm. And of all places she could be, why _there?_ "

Kiyohana placed a comforting hand on her back. "You wouldn't have known about the storm. It's not your fault."

"But what if she's hurt herself?" blurted Tsubo, weeping into her hands. "What am I going to tell my husband? I'll never forgive myself!"

Without any more words, Kiyohana drew the sobbing woman into her arms. She cradled her like a child, regret washing over her.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to tell her that Aoi was miles away in a remote part of the forest. But Tsubo had the right to know. A little awareness wouldn't hurt. As a mother to four shinobi children, Kiyohana herself had more than a fair share of the agonising pain of not knowing how her children were faring when they leave home for missions or the war.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts drifting to Hashirama and Itama who were fighting in the west of the country, willing herself to be strong despite the sound of Tsubo's despair breaking her heart into pieces.

' _Please, Tobirama. Find Aoi-chan quick and come back safe. Both of you.'_

* * *

Aoi blinked blearily at the two blurry shapes hovering over her. As she became increasingly aware of the warm futon cocooning her body, the faces of her parents came into focus.

Her lips parted with a gasp of relief. "Okaa-chan! Otou-chan!"

She threw off the blanket and launched herself from the futon, only to find her arms enclosing the air.

There was a loud thump when Aoi crashed onto the floor, her legs becoming tangled in the blanket. She let out a groan and peeled her face from the tatami. She glanced up, pain and confusion marring her features. Her parents were suddenly sitting at the far end of her bedroom, a veil of shadows cast over their eyes.

It was her mother who spoke first.

"How could you wander off like that? We've warned you. Don't leave the trail." She shook her head, disappointed. "You lied to me."

Aoi's cheeks burned in shame. She'd told her mother as she was preparing to leave for work that she was going into the mountain to forage. "I-I'm sorry," she murmured, lowering her gaze.

"We heard that a hundred times before," her father intoned. "What's going to stop you from misbehaving a hundred times over? I've been thinking about it for a long time. It's clear now that we've made a terrible mistake in adopting you."

His coldly delivered words were a vicious slap in Aoi's face.

Her parents stood up. Their bodies rippled and waned like smoke dispersing in front of her incredulous eyes for a few seconds before solidifying into her cousins. Unlike her parents, the brothers' identical steel grey eyes were visible. Just as she remembered them, always looking down their noses at her with disdain.

"Pathetic," Hideo sniffed. "We've been saying it over and over that you're a burden. Look at the state of you. You're not fit to be a Senju."

Tetsuo rolled his eyes. "She's not one of us to begin with. She ought to be kicked out before she sullies the clan's name further."

Invisible hands snatched Aoi from behind. She was hauled off her feet and hurled into the back of a horse-drawn cart.

Butsuma loomed over her, wearing the black veil over his eyes. "I should have done this years ago." He jerked his head. "Take her away."

The cart lurched forward, throwing Aoi onto the wooden floor. She scrambled onto her hands and knees, shouting, "No, please – don't send me away!"

The clan head turned around indifferently and walked towards the gate where her parents stood. Her aunt, Miyako, Hashirama, Itama and Kiyohana were with them. Their feet did not move to run after her. Their lips did not part to beg the cart to stop. Their eyes, concealed in the shadows, refused to glance her way, even as her desperate cries echoed in the air.

A curtain of heavy rain rolled over. The cart was roofless. Aoi was drenched from head to toe in seconds. As the cart wheeled her further and further away, the gate and the figures underneath shrank in the distance until she could make out nothing in the rain.

Aoi slumped onto the wet floor.

' _No way… Is this really happening?'_

She was being taken from the only place she called home and the people that loved her. _Or was everything a pretence?_

A bolt of lightning descended from the sky and struck the ground. The spooked horse reared up on its hind legs, whinnying in fear. Aoi was tossed around like a ragdoll as the cart jostled violently before she was flung into the air.

It was a peculiar sensation. Flying and, at some point, floating.

Then, gravity took hold and she was falling. Down to a dark abyss awaiting her at the bottom.

* * *

Aoi jolted awake to thunderclaps, eyes flying opened with a sharp intake of breath gushing into her lungs. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, violently as if it might erupt from her chest. Everything that'd happened in the dream flashed in her mind. She rolled over to her side and hurled the contents of her stomach until she was heaving air and shaking very hard.

She collapsed on her back, chest heaving with exertion. Rain fell sharply on her face, mixing with her tears. She was soaked to the bone, breathless and groggy as if every ounce of her energy was syphoned out of her, covered in spatters of mud and her own sick, her slippers gone. She had never felt more miserable and filthy.

' _What happened?'_ She vaguely recalled falling. A sea of inky black. _'I must have passed out. How long ago was that?'_

It was darker than she remembered, she could barely see her fingers in front of her in the thick rain. Had dusk fallen? Or was the rain distorting her mind and she was actually out for five minutes? More importantly, where was she?

Aoi glanced around, her brain protesting at a simple activity, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. It was a gully of some sort she had fallen into. Water was flowing down its sides like miniature streams to pool at the bottom.

A cold chill ran up her spine, the image of herself plummeting in her dream still vivid. Was she meant to drown in the muddy waters of a flooded gully? She wasn't one to believe that dreams were projections of the future, but if she didn't get out of here soon, she was in grave danger.

Digging her elbows and heels of her bare feet into the mud, Aoi pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her face contorted in a grimace at the throbbing pain radiating across her back. She must have hit her back hard during the fall. Her eyes flickered to the boulder next to her and a shudder spread through her body.

There was a clatter when one of her feet knocked against something solid.

Aoi paused in puzzlement and looked up. At first, she could see nothing at all in the rain. As she gazed long and hard, she could start making out the faint outline of an oddly-shaped form with a hulking figure across from her.

A spurt of lightning flooded the gully in a white glow. She saw the skull first, sitting at a grotesque angle upon its shoulders. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the battered cuirass – its leather and lacquer coatings had peeled off, revealing thick layers of rusts encrusting the corroded metals – right where the heart used to beat.

Aoi slapped a hand over her mouth, a screamed lodged in her throat, as darkness rushed back into the gully. She wrenched her feet away from the skeletal ones, feeling something wet and warm trickling between her legs.

She spun around, throwing herself on her front, and crawled her way up the slope. A sudden pull on her shoulder made her glanced down in panic. Something had grabbed her bag and she couldn't see what. She ripped the bag off her without hesitation and hauled herself onto the surface.

She stood unsteadily on her feet, wobbling like a drunkard. She didn't know where to go. Only that she needed to get far, _far_ away.

* * *

The world whooshed past Tobirama's field of vision in a blur of grey, the wind screaming in his ears as he sprinted through the forest, his cloak billowing behind him. His head was bent low, eyes narrowed against the relentless rain slicing at the exposed parts of his face.

The storm was passing over the forest from the eastern mountains. Visibility was very poor, and what little daylight permeating through the rainclouds were gradually fading with twilight approaching.

Tobirama was determined they wouldn't slow him down. He was a shinobi. He would endure like the _Ishiwari Zakura,_ the ancient sakura tree the Senju clan cherished. Besides, he was entrusted with this mission, despite his mother's initial misgivings, and he had sworn to Tsubo that he would bring her daughter back to her. People were counting on him.

A look of surprise flickered across his features. _'Her chakra's shifting…_ _She's on the move.'_ The girl had remained stationary since he began monitoring her movements fifteen minutes ago, it had been a nagging source of concern.

He furrowed his brows, egging his feet faster.

XXX

He picked up a straw hat from the ground. His gaze shifted to the forlorn-looking slipper teetering close to the edge of a gully, where he'd stopped, its sole pointing skywards catching the pouring rain.

Hat in one hand, he stooped down to examine the slipper. A child of the redhead's stature could fit through it judging from the size. The thong had also snapped off. He looked around but the other slipper couldn't be found as far as he could see.

Tobirama spared the broken slipper a pondering glance before moving onto the gully. Leaning over the edge, he peered down the murky depths; at the same moment, its dark belly was lit up by a flash overhead.

He counted four.

Four Senju Shinobi.

Even from a distance and the state the armours were in, Tobirama recognised the design for an older generation. There was a set of armour that had once belonged to his grandfather displayed in his father's private study, and they would more or less resemble each other if the ones hanging off the skeletons were restored back to their former glory.

Tobirama leaned back from the precipice, scowling. He had seen the basket and bag. No slipper though.

' _She was here not long ago.'_ He honed in on her chakra and felt it responding to his probing. _'She has stopped somewhere. Good, it isn't far.'_

He stood up, paused, and bowed his head.

He thought of his late grandfather who had perished in a battle, and his grandparents from his mother's side who's never returned from a fishing trip in the Land of Whirlpools. All three had died long before Hashirama was born. Tobirama was only two when his paternal grandmother had passed away in her sleep. He couldn't remember her well, how she'd looked like. Though, there were times he felt strangely wistful seeing the mischievous grin on Hashirama's face.

Tobirama pulled out from his brooding, shaking his head to clear his mind. He straightened his spine. His cloak was already drenched through in the sluicing rain, his clothes beneath starting to get wet.

He glanced at the hat he's still holding onto. Deciding there's no consequence in leaving it behind, he left it where he'd found it and spread out his feet, preparing for the jump over the gully. His hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack in a firm grip. His mother had packed an extra cloak and a first aid kit in there. He hoped the latter wouldn't be needed. If the redhead had managed to get herself out of the gully, it must be a good sign. She was lucky it wasn't deep.

Her chakra pulled Tobirama towards her like a magnet as it guided him through the rain-shrouded forest. He hadn't felt it since that one time, almost three years ago, under a magnolia tree when the trees in the valley were the colour of her amber hair. He'd been curious about this amnesiac girl a couple adopted into the clan, a decision his father consented to and surprised him. It'd taken him several trials and errors to get it right, filtering through the sea of Senju chakra, and eventually he'd found her.

Tobirama stared into the mouth of a cave. He could sense her inside; out here, in the middle of nowhere, her chakra stood out.

He lingered at the entrance, spreading out his consciousness to eliminate the possibilities of an ambush – there were shinobi who could mask their chakra after all. War made travelling within the boundaries of their own land dangerous, and folks were often advised to exercise caution and not to leave the tracks unless accompanied by an escort.

Which raised some questions. How did the redhead end up miles from the base? Did she lose her sense of directions in the storm? Surely, she would've suspected that she's going in the wrong way?

' _Doesn't matter either way. There's no excusing carelessness,'_ he found himself thinking, ducking inside once certain it's would lecture her later.

The absence of rain brought instant relief. Tobirama almost shredded his hood in eagerness to pull it off. He shook his head, droplets of water flying everywhere.

A flame hissed to life. He kept his head down to avoid banging it on the low ceiling, holding the torch in one hand and the other stretched out beside him as he felt his way down the dim passage, fingers caressing the cool and damp limestone wall. At one point, the air began to carry a faint scent of urine and vomit. He hastened his pace.

The cave wasn't deep. It wasn't long before he came across a crumpled figure huddling on the floor. A puddle had formed underneath her, and he watched as the pool of water grew bit by bit, spreading across the ground. She had her back towards him, gripping the sides of her head with her palms jammed against her ears. Her face was pressed into her knees, preventing him from getting a glimpse behind her tresses. She wouldn't react to the touch of his hand upon her back, nor to the urgent sound of his voice calling her.

Tobirama stepped back with a resigned sigh. She left him with no other choices. He reached out again to grip one of her shoulders, the torch held away at a safe distance, and shook her unhesitatingly hard.

A pair of azure eyes whirled around. The redhead jerked away in fright, knocking his hand away with a flying elbow. She tumbled gawkily on her bottom with a loud thud.

He moved to help her.

"D-d-don't come any closer," she mewled, freezing him in his tracks.

Tobirama pulled back slightly. He took in her appearance, suddenly unsure. Her locks, splayed around her ashen face like frayed ropes, had lost its warm hue in the shadows of the cave. Dull and lifeless like the autumn leaves that had fallen onto the ground and left to shrivel and wither away with time. Her komon was dripping wet and clung to her trembling body, she looked helplessly small.

It was hard to believe this was the same person who delighted in spiting him. What with the way she was looking at him with large and vulnerable eyes. Eyes brimming with a look dreadfully familiar to him, yet different from the time she saw him at the sakura viewing back in spring. Different from the night their border patrols were ambushed three autumns ago. She wasn't shaking because she's cold and wet. No.

It was pure, unadulterated _fear_. She was _afraid of him_.

To have that look trained on him was _off-putting_. In a simpler term, he didn't like it. But… he was beginning to grasp the situation.

Slowly, Tobirama got down on one knee. The redhead tried to move away but she couldn't manage more in her weakened state. A whimper rose from the back of her throat.

"It's fine. I'm not going to hurt you." Something stirred inside Tobirama with those words that'd left his lips. He eased off his happuri and placed it gently on the ground beside him. He tousled his hair next, causing the platinum locks to spike out when he removed his hand. He brought the torch close enough he could feel the heat of the fire licking his face. "See? It's just me."

A range of emotions flickered through her azure eyes. Recognition, disbelief, bewilderment. He's probably the last person she expected to appear in front of her. Not like he could blame her. At least she seemed more at ease knowing he was not an enemy.

Tobirama assessed her wounds visible to him. She had a few cuts and bruises here and there but nothing dire that needed his immediate attention. Still, it was better to ask the person in question.

She moved her head wordlessly from side to side, stuck in a daze.

He bit back a sigh, letting his shoulders fall. He'd take her word for it.

Grabbing his happuri, he rose to his feet. "Come on, let's not dawdle. We have to move away from here quick."

"… Why?"

The storm raging outside the cave almost drowned out her feeble voice, Tobirama initially thought he was hearing things. "Why?" he echoed, arching an eyebrow at the redhead.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm bringing you back. Isn't that obvious?"

She averted her eyes. "You're lying."

"Why would I?"

"You're lying," she repeated as if he hadn't said anything, hugging her knees to her chest. A lock of hair spilled down her forehead, coming to rest on the bridge of her nose. "They don't want me."

This time, Tobirama was unable to hide his astonishment. There were a few people he could think of that fitted in the category of _they_ and it still didn't make any sense. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

Her eyes clouded over with a distant memory.

"Did you do something you shouldn't have done?" He blinked. "You came into this forest knowing you're not allowed to."

Her silence was very telling.

Tobirama narrowed his eyes, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. _'But it doesn't explain why she has such a strong reaction. I wonder,'_ he cast a pensive glance at her, _'what happened.'_

The redhead lifted her head at the rustling of feet. "What are you doing?" she queried, watching him lower himself onto the ground.

"This is my mission," said Tobirama, making himself comfortable on the hard floor. He crossed his legs and placed his happuri on top of them.

"Mission?" she said, as if the word mystified her.

"I was sent to retrieve you by your mother."

Her eyes widened. "Okaa-chan, did?"

"That's right. And I'm not leaving without you."

The redhead looked away from his piercing gaze and rested her chin on her knees. It was some time before she spoke, her voice low and sullen.

"Why bother?" She hugged herself tighter. "I don't belong in this clan – nor am I originally a Senju. What reason is there for me to remain here? I'm not a shinobi like you. I don't fight. I'm just a nuisance to everyone around me. I'll be better off –"

"Don't you dare finish that!" Tobirama interjected, red eyes glowering into her blue ones. He took in a deep breath to recompose himself. "Do you honestly think that'll solve everything?" he asked in a calm tone. "Are you fine with leaving behind so many precious things just like that? It was your mother who alerted us of your disappearance. She pleaded that I bring you back. Is that hard for you to believe? And so what if you're adopted? You've been living among us for almost three years. You're as good as any of us – better than _a couple of yobs_ , I dare say."

The redhead didn't speak. He could see it from her eyes, a battle of conflicting thoughts being waged.

"If you don't trust me," he went on, "then look deep into your heart. Search for your answers there. Can you imagine your mother running around searching everywhere for you? Imagine your father literally turning the whole forest upside down to find you?"

There was pregnant pause. She gave an imperceptible nod.

"Will they chuck you out over something like this?"

Her lashes fluttered to a close. She saw herself being held in the arms of her parents. She'd always felt safe and warm in them, their loving gazes resting upon her. "No," she croaked, voice thick with emotions.

"No," Tobirama nodded, his sombre demeanour not betraying the huge relief filling him. "While I won't deny what you've done today is wrong, it's not a severe enough offence that warrants a banishment. And even if one day you do find yourself in that situation – hypothetically speaking," he quickly added at the disconcerted look he received, "you'll find there are people who will fight for you. And they're all waiting for you back home."

She studied his face, eyes swimming with tears, searching for any signs of deceit. Tobirama allowed her. There was nothing to hide. He had spoken earnestly from his heart.

He held out his hand to her.

"Shall we go home together then, _Aoi?_ "

* * *

 _ **Eeep. Where do I even start? Well, first of all, let me apologise for the long wait. a) My Microsoft Office 365 subscription expired, so I had to get a 2016 to replace it which took some time. b) I was away for a vacation abroad for two weeks. c) Games. Before then, the first draft was more or less written down. But when I came back, sat down and read it through - oh boy. I should've called it draft version 0.5. Anyways. Thank you all for your patience. Thank you to those who reviewed, fav'd and follow'd the fic.**_

 _ **Tora3 had raised an interesting question regarding Izuna's age. There isn't a solid info on how old the Uchiha and Senju siblings were when Hashirama and Madara first met, aside from Kawarama's. I've seen a lot of people would say Izuna and Tobirama is the same age, but I think Izuna may be a year younger. Which means in this fanfic, he's 8 months older than Aoi (her birthday is 29 October).**_

 ** _Aoi - 9_**

 ** _Hashirama, Madara - 12_**

 ** _Tobirama - 11_**

 ** _Itama - 7_**

 ** _Kawarama - 6_**

 ** _Izuna - 10_**

 ** _Thank you for reading and see you next chapter! Again if there's any question or thoughts on the chapter, please feel free to drop a review or PM me :)_**


	9. Chapter 9

"I –" Aoi hiccupped, "—I want to go home." Something wet spattered onto her cheeks. "I want to go home."

Tobirama let his hand fall to his knee, relieved. He sat back, watching over the redhead in a contemplative silence, as her cries echoed around him in the murky cave. Outside, the storm raged on.

It went on for some time, the flow of tears streaming down those freckled cheeks unceasing as the rain before the awkwardness set in and he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Stop crying, idiot," chided Tobirama. He hadn't meant to call her an idiot. "That's what I'm here for."

Her shoulders twitched with another hiccup. "I'm sorry," she gasped, brushing the tears away on the back of her hands.

Tobirama heaved a sigh, the creases between his brows smoothing out. "Never mind," he mumbled, turning away. "It isn't your fault."

Aoi gradually quietened down. She shoved her messy hair from her face and looked at him with puffy eyes, faint traces of tears staining her splotchy cheeks.

"Can you walk?" Tobirama asked, slipping his happuri on.

She nodded but he had to help her to her feet. She leaned into him, their shoulders touching, until she'd regained her footing.

Tobirama led them back down the passage. As they neared the exit, a blast of draught swept into the cave and wiped out the torch's flame, plunging them into darkness. Aoi shuffled closer to him. There was far less light outside; it's only a matter of time before it'd be dark as night.

Tobirama tossed the now-useless torch aside. He turned to the redhead. Her worry-filled eyes stared back at him, shimmering in the little light dancing off them.

He took out the cloak from his backpack. "Put this on," he instructed, handing her the bag instead.

There was bemusement but Aoi did as he'd instructed without a peep and stood still for him to put the cloak on her next.

' _This is odd_ ,' Tobirama mused. Considering the three years of butting heads whenever they crossed paths, it was a mystifying feeling to receive her complete trust. Perhaps she's exhausted and longing for home. That'd make sense.

His fingers accidentally brushed her skin as he was securing the clasp around her neck. Tobirama moved back and paused, surprised by the warmth he felt from a person who was completely drenched in the rain.

He hastily brushed it off, noticing her puzzled expression, and took another step back. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, telling her to mimic him. He turned around, got down on one knee, and gestured for her to climb onto his back.

There was no movement.

Tobirama peered over his shoulder. "What are you doing? Get on."

Aoi wrung her hands together. "But… I'm rather filthy right now," she said, her cheeks visibly growing darker in the gloom. She could smell herself and it wasn't nice. She was certain, standing so close, he could too and was probably being polite.

Tobirama cocked an eyebrow. How could she worry about something frivolous like leaving grime on him at a time like this? "It'll wash off, if not in the rain. Now, come on."

Aoi hesitated before climbing onto his back. She draped her arms around his neck, sceptical. Her father had carried her on his back several times but she wasn't sure if someone as small as Tobirama could carry her, much less all the way back in this storm.

She was about to suggest she'd walk when, without a warning, he stood up as easily as if she wasn't on his back.

"Whatever happens, don't let go. Understand?" said Tobirama, holding onto the back of her legs straddling his waist. Her head moved, brushing against the back of his in a small nod. "Ready?"

Aoi opened her mouth. A rumbling thunder cut short her reply and a squeak escaped her throat instead. She latched onto him tighter, face shoved into his shoulder, her fingers twisting around the fabric of his cloak.

Tobirama's gaze lingered on her trembling form for a few seconds longer before turning his head around to face the deluge. "It's going to be okay."

The rain hit them like a wall of bricks the moment Tobirama stepped out from the cave. He broke into a run, tearing through the forest in the direction of home. The wind had mellowed, the rain noticeably weaker. The storm was finally coming to an end.

"Umm..." a timid voice close to his ear spoke, some time later.

"What is it?"

Aoi shifted around on his back. "All I've done is annoy you, why take me back?"

For a moment, Tobirama wondered if she's having second thoughts. A glance back told him otherwise. There was an unmistakable earnest look glimmering in her eyes that peered at him from under the shadows of her hood. She wanted to _understand_ hismotive.

He returned his gaze ahead. "That's because –" he broke off, realising his passenger had fallen asleep, much to his amusement. He sighed through his nostrils and pumped his legs faster.

Tobirama mulled over her question.

He'd volunteered to take this mission. It was only logical. He was a sensor and experienced in tracking. He was also aware of the situation, which meant they had prevented the need to summon another candidate from their home in the storm; every second wasted could've been a step closer to disaster.

He would make the same decision in a heartbeat for another Senju in distress. Then again, would he try and convince them to come back with him as he had done with _her_? He could've saved his breath, ignore his gut instinct telling him it'd be a bad idea, and knock her out. Yet, he didn't.

" _All I've done is annoy you, why take me back?"_

Perhaps if she asked again, he'd respond with the words, _it never crossed my mind._

...

Aoi was slipping in and out consciousness.

At the back of her mind, she knew it was raining. It's not something easily missed, the rain hitting and running down her back as if she's standing under a waterfall. It was unpleasant but not entirely unbearable. There's heat radiating from the body pressed into her front, spreading through her drenched komon, warming her. And there's the sound of someone's evenly-paced breathings drifting into her sleep. At times the unnerving rumbles resonated in the darkness and threatened to shatter the peace, just listening to the sighs of air seemed to send out waves of reassurances.

There were voices that spoke of joy and relief. A pair of arms holding her in a strong embrace to a body distinctively different from the one that'd been carrying her earlier. Aoi wasn't scared though. She was warm and safe, soothed by the bittersweet scent of medicinal herbs and the tearful murmurs of a feminine voice.

At some point, the rain had stopped. Or perhaps she was indoors and _finally_ in dry clothes. Either way, she was glad. The futon felt glorious like a luxury.

She heard voices again, speaking in low whispers this time. Clothes rustling and feet shuffling across the tatami. A large, callous hand falling on her forehead, brushing away her locks with tender strokes. _Was she crying?_

Aoi stirred. Something warm and hairy was nuzzling her face. She opened her eyes to find a furry face staring down at her.

Shirogane meowed and bumped his forehead to her cheek. Aoi tilted her head away from his ticklish whiskers, stifling a sneeze.

Over her kitten's deep purrs, she heard the snores.

Aoi heaved her back off the mattress to sit up, face twisted in a grimace at the soreness in her muscles and joints. She looked around. She was in her bedroom. Her father was slumped against the wall beside her futon, head drooping over his shoulders and fast asleep.

"Otou-chan?"

The snores died abruptly on a piercing snort.

Manabu lifted his head. "You're awake," he grunted, blinking groggily at his daughter. He scratched the back of his neck, mouth stretched wide in a long yawn.

A moving shape beside Aoi caught his attention. He squinted at it and suddenly felt very wide-awake. He slapped a hand to his face and groaned in despair, realising what'd woken his daughter up. He berated himself. He was supposed to keep one eye on his daughter and the other on Shirogane to prevent _this_ from happening.

Manabu shoved the issue aside. He could grumble about it but his daughter was already awake, and right now tending to her needs was more important.

He dusted the strands of silver fur off his lap and shifted closer to Aoi's futon. "How are you feeling?" he asked, studying her closely.

She peered up at him, her bottom lip wobbling. "Otou-chan. I-I'm…I'm–"

Manabu's features softened, aware that his question was far from her mind at the moment. "I know, Aoi," he smiled, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "I know you are."

Fat drops of tears leaked from her eyes. He opened his arms. Aoi dove in, burying her face into his chest and wept.

Manabu held her close, patting her head. "There, there. There's no need to cry."

The door rattled open with urgency. Tsubo stood in her sleepwear, strands of chestnut hair had escaped from the bun she'd gone to bed in. Her eyes were wide and alert. No doubt, woken up by their daughter's cries.

Aoi raised her head in her father's arms and whimpered, "Okaa-chan."

Tsubo was taken by surprise. The moment she sat down beside her husband, Aoi moved and threw herself onto her lap. Her little arms wrapped around her waist as if scared she'd vanish into thin air.

Tsubo relaxed and exchanged a weary smile with Manabu. She leaned over, rubbing slow and comforting circles on Aoi's back as she cried into her kimono. "Shhh. You're safe now. Everything's alright."

Shirogane padded up to them. He rubbed his head against Aoi, switching between meowing and purring as if trying to comfort her too.

Aoi pulled away from her mother. She sat back on her knees, wiping her eyes, and glanced between her parents. An oil lamp on her writing desk cast a weak amber glow on their faces. They both looked exhausted. Her father must have returned from his long day shift and stayed up to watch over her while her mother rested. And yet, it was the latter who showed more signs of fatigue.

Aoi glanced down, past her white sleepwear, at her hands. The scars peeking under the sleeves had been cleaned and treated with ointment. She had obviously been bathed. Yet, the mud and all kinds of filth felt like they still clung to her skin.

Aoi opened her mouth.

She wanted to tell her parents everything. That it was her fault. To apologise. But the tears wouldn't stop flowing, doubling up as frustration flared inside her at the sudden inability to speak.

Tsubo reached out with her sleeve and dabbed at her wet cheeks. "Take it easy now. We can talk in the morning."

"B-but," Aoi started to argue.

"Listen to your mother, Aoi," said Manabu, firmly. He placed a hand on the crown of her head and gently ruffled her hair, a stark contrast to his gruff voice. "Right now, it's important that you rest."

"Would you like something to eat?" her mother asked. "You must be famished."

Aoi caved. She was indeed very hungry.

She looked at them again. The concerns and love from her parents, she felt them keenly this time.

It was well past midnight when Aoi said goodnight to her parents. She laid in her futon, Shirogane curled up beside her, listening to the whispers of movements coming from the bedroom next door and the melodic pitter-patter of rain on the roof. The storm had passed.

Aoi rolled onto her side. A sliver of moonlight had slipped through the thin gap in the shoji, and she watched as gleaming tendrils of rain streaked past. The oil lamp on her desk was cold. The daisies she'd picked from the Old Forest peered from over the rim of an old saucer sitting nearby. She had a vague memory of stuffing them in her sash. Their white petals, silver in the moonlight, were either missing or furled from being crushed.

Aoi closed her eyes, feeling fuzzy all over from the warm plain porridge she had, and it wasn't long before she succumbed to sleep.

* * *

"It's my fault," said Aoi, wondering how many times she'd repeated herself this morning. "If I hadn't wandered off, I wouldn't have caused troubles for everyone. Please accept my apologies."

Kiyohana exhaled a breath of air. "I'm surprised," she remarked, mostly to herself. "As clan matriarch, I cannot overlook this matter, Aoi-chan. I hereby prohibit you from leaving the gates for the next three months."

Aoi lowered her head in a deferential manner. She didn't expect it any other way. She wasn't keen on going out again anytime soon too.

"I would hand out a suitable disciplinary action," Kiyohana continued, "but since you've been admitted your wrongdoings and apologised, I will put this case to rest."

"Thank you, Kiyohana-san!" Tsubo gasped in delight, arching forward in a deep bow.

On the other hand, Aoi was perplexed. "Is that really okay?"

Kiyohana regarded her, gazing at a healed cut running across one of the freckled cheeks, and smiled drily. "Compared to what I initially have in mind, I think you've paid a high price for your actions yesterday."

Aoi had nothing more to say.

Kiyohana sobered up. A gentle breeze wafted into the room. "Please remember this, Aoi-chan. These rules are in place to protect _everyone_ in the clan. There are people who are capable of slipping past our patrols without being detected. People who will not hesitate to kidnap a child, hold them for ransom – _or worse_."

Recalling the horrific ambush three autumns ago, Aoi swallowed hard. "I understand. I'll be more cautious from now on," she vowed.

Kiyohana gave a sheepish smile. She'd merely wanted to warn Aoi but her words seemed to have rattled the poor girl.

The meeting brought to an end, the matriarch led mother and daughter to the front door.

Aoi lagged behind the women as they chatted.

Kiyohana couldn't help noticing the way her eyes roamed about the corridor. Even as she and Tsubo exchanged parting words at the entryway, the redhead was peering around her at the empty corridor behind, azure eyes burning with intent as if…

"Are you looking for someone?"

Aoi jumped back with a surprised yelp, scuffing her new straw slippers on the ground. She waved her hands wildly in front of her. "N-n-no! It's not what you think!" she insisted, even though her whole face was glowing. "I'm sorry, I must go now. Miyako-sama is expecting me. Good bye, Kiyohana-san! Okaa-chan!"

She spun on her heels and smacked into something solid. She stumbled back, bowing and sputtering an apology. Only it wasn't a person she'd walked into. It was the bamboo flag pole outside Kiyohana's home.

"Be careful!" Tsubo called after Aoi. She heaved a weary sigh, watching her red-faced daughter scurrying down the street. "Geez, that child."

Kiyohana stifled a giggle. "She's adorable." She turned to Tsubo. "Now, what was that you need to discuss?"

...

Aoi could only stare in disbelief. "You're not mad?"

"Do you want me to be?" her teacher retorted with a hint of amusement.

Aoi shook her head vigorously. She lowered her gaze to her clasped hands resting on her lap. It was close to noon when she'd arrived at her teacher's door, looking flustered and out of breath. Miyako had raised an eyebrow at her ruffled appearance and instructed her to leave the talking after they had an early lunch.

"I think you have enough of lectures in one morning," reasoned Miyako.

Aoi felt her cheeks heating up.

She'd told her parents and Kiyohana about discovering the Old Forest last month while chasing an escaped Shirogane. How the place intrigued her and that she'd since went back three times including yesterday. Her parents were predictably upset and reprimanded her, but later expressed their relief that she was safe. A matter they – including Kiyohana – kept stressing.

There were a few bits Aoi had left out. Like the raven-haired boy and the skeleton in the gully. She couldn't bring herself to speak about the latter. The mere thought of the shinobi remains sent cold chills coursing through her blood, she wondered if she'd live with that image forever ingrained in her memories. The boy, on the other hand. He was just a kid like her, shinobi or not. In the end, she had quickly brushed the matter aside.

Aoi resumed paying attention as Miyako started talking again.

"I'll admit, I'm surprised."

"Everyone said the same thing," Aoi mumbled audibly, waving a paper fan to cool her face.

"I'm sure they were expecting a mundane case of you getting caught out by the storm. Why tell them the truth? You could have avoided a scolding."

True. The second Aoi woke up early this morning, she'd dreaded the conversation she was going to bring up over breakfast, knowing she couldn't escape an admonishment. But it was the uncertainty of her parents' reactions her stomach had churned nervously over, almost ruining her appetite in the process.

Aoi inhaled deeply, the bitter fragrance of green tea wafting over her senses, clearing her thoughts. "It didn't feel right," she eventually admitted.

Miyako hummed, rubbing her wrist in a pensive manner. "Perhaps I should rephrase what I've said. You'd managed to plan and execute your excursions for quite a while without any adults, including me, suspecting your clandestine activities. That's impressive," she said, unperturbed at the bewildered look she received. Aoi wasn't sure how to react to her praise. "I am pleased my student is inquisitive of the world outside this little valley. Taking risks is not all bad. We may discover a part of ourselves that would've otherwise remain closed off if we never leave our comfort zones. That said, I'm not encouraging recklessness."

Aoi winced. She wished the ground would swallow her up and leave her there.

"Well, saying that. Not all of my adventures went the way I'd planned," Miyako confessed, voice taking a more casual tone. "I certainly ended up on death's doorstep more than I can count on my fingers and toes. Perhaps luck was on my side. It's a miracle my luck hadn't gone out sooner," she added, picking up her green tea. She rolled the cup in her hand. "Whether or not we're in the midst of a war, the world is a dangerous place. We are humans and have limits. We're not indestructible. That goes to any shinobi touting as the strongest out there. One day, we'll pass on to the afterlife. Don't make it soon, Aoi. You have years ahead of yourself."

Sitting up straighter, Aoi gave a grim nod. "I understand, Miyako-sama."

Miyako drew a delicate sigh. "Dear me. I did say I'm not going to lecture you." She shrugged and took a sip from her cup. She returned her gaze to her student. "By the way, I've been meaning to point this out. Your hair has recently gotten longer."

Aoi touched her locks.

It hit her, seconds later, that something was missing.

* * *

 **Next morning**

Tobirama clicked his tongue. "They're late," he grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

"Let's hang around a little longer. Maybe something came up at home," Kiyohana guessed, touching a finger to her cheek.

"Both of them?" Tobirama arched an eyebrow. He was supposed to head out in a three-man-team ten minutes ago. His teammates were known to be prompt, and one of them was meant to lead the team!

"Please wait!" shouted a voice. Though not one Tobirama expected to hear.

Mother and son turned away from the gate. Tsubo was jogging towards them. Aoi wasn't far behind, carrying a bundle in her arms.

Tsubo staggered to a halt. "Oh, thank goodness!" she gasped, clutching the front of her komon where her heart pounded rapidly. "We've made it in time."

"Tsubo-san! How nice to see you," greeted Kiyohana, smiling ear to ear.

Tsubo managed a strained one in return. "You too." Calmed after a few gulps of air, she swept the stray locks from her sweaty face, tucking them behind an ear, and stood straighter. "Please excuse my appearance, and I'm sorry for intruding like this."

Watching his mother cheerily waving off the apology, something about this felt _scripted_.

Sensing a pair of eyes on him, Tobirama smoothed over his features and let his arms fall to his sides. He dipped his head, acknowledging the redhead's mother.

Tsubo turned to him, bending forward slightly. "Thank you for bringing Aoi home, Tobirama."

"Don't mention it."

Aoi couldn't see what's happening. She was standing behind her mother, _deliberately_ , and heard the bemused undertone in Tobirama's voice when he spoke. She stayed very still – even though her feet itched to turn around and take her far away from here – feeling increasingly restless as their conversation dragged on. How did she get herself rope into this again?

"– _Aoi!"_

"Yes!" the redhead yelped, jumping at her name. From the look her mother's giving her, she must've been called a fair few times.

Aoi felt so exposed. Her mother had moved aside without her realisation. Her eyes darted to Tobirama. Her face, flushed from running through the base, turned a brighter shade of red. She averted her gaze, the dirt ground suddenly seemed fascinating.

"You're here now," she heard her exasperated mother said. "It's too late to get cold feet."

Aoi considered doing that but eventually conceded defeat. She steeled herself and took uncertain steps to stand in front of Tobirama. Still unable to look him in the eye, she pushed the bundle towards him.

"What's this?"

"Lunch," Aoi murmured to his toes.

"She made it herself."

"Okaa-chan!" Aoi moaned, scowling over her shoulder.

"Lunch? I already have…"

Tobirama suddenly remembered his mother. If his father or any of the siblings were leaving for a mission or training in the forest, she'd always carry their bento to see them off at the gate. It was something his mother had always insisted on doing and a sidelong glance confirmed his suspicion. Her hands were empty.

Noticing his look, Kiyohana smiled sweetly at him. "Since Aoi-chan came all this way, why not take it?" The corners of her curled lips were taut, a thinly veiled threat only her son would recognise.

Tobirama, irritated at himself, reached out for the redhead's bundle. "Thanks," he grunted, gripping the knot of the cloth.

Aoi bobbed her head, fiddling with the sash around her waist.

Tobirama studied her. He thought she would've at least look relieved that he'd taken the lunch. The wind picked up, carrying the voices of his teammates over. His eyes strayed from her face to rest on the warm curls swaying around her shoulders.

...

The sea of bamboos was dressed in a striking gold hue, dyed in the beams of light descending upon the grove. Aoi walked amongst them, each step carrying a certain heaviness, matching her mood. She blew a sigh, the sullen sound vanishing among the rustling leaves and singing cicadas.

 _It's gone._

Last night, she'd searched high and low. She'd pulled out drawers and sifted through her clothes, emptied her bookshelf in hopes it might've somehow fallen behind her books. Her mother swore it wasn't in the laundry but had helped in the search to ease her mind. Every nook and cranny in and around the house had been looked. It wasn't until her father had returned home later in the evening that a tearful Aoi admitted it was well and truly gone.

A snap of a branch breaking underfoot reeled her from her brooding. Her eyes widened in astonishment – a look mirrored on Tobirama's face.

He recovered first.

"Hey," he greeted, strolling up to her. There was a moment's pause where he seemed at a loss. Almost, unsure. "You look better," he said.

Panic rose inside Aoi as she grappled for words. "Y-you too," she blurted and stiffened in horror at the blunder she made.

Tobirama's expression remained unchanged. "I'm returning this back to you. Thanks for the lunch."

Cheeks painted a deep red, Aoi murmured something incomprehensible and took the cloth she'd used to pack his lunch from him.

She glanced down at the green cotton fabric.

It was her mother's suggestion to present Tobirama a token of gratitude. It'd seemed like a good idea – any was better than wallowing in her misery – until this morning came, when the moment to leave arrived, and stepping through the front door suddenly became a struggle. Aoi wasn't keen on seeing him so soon. It had only been two days since the incident. Just thinking back on it filled her with embarrassment. He'd seen the mess she was and heard things she wouldn't have told another soul.

Even so, he'd helped her see things in the proper light when doubts and fears clouded her judgement. She owed him at least this much.

A thought came to Aoi as she tucked the cloth away. Was he on his way to Miyako's house, expecting she'd be there at this hour? It's likely it didn't cross his mind that her teacher might dismiss her early. Then again, she hadn't expected he'd personally return the cloth either.

Silence stretched between them.

Aoi played with the hem of her sleeves. What would one say when they had antagonised the other for so long and suddenly found themselves attempting to hold a civil, albeit awkward, conversation?

"How was it?" Aoi asked the first thing that popped up in her mind. She snuck a glance at Tobirama. She hadn't been the only one lost in her thoughts. "How was the lunch?" she expounded.

There had been an onigiri and a large peach for a snack. A single pickled plum in the centre provided flavour. But otherwise, the onigiri tasted ordinary. The peach, however, was juicy and had just the right amount of sweetness for him.

"The peach was nice," said Tobirama.

"Really? I'm glad."

Tobirama's brows furrowed.

"Umm…" Aoi began uncertainly, twiddling her thumbs. She took in a deep breath and peered up at him through her lashes. "Thank you for not telling them that I went on my own."

"You've apologised," he remarked.

She nodded.

Tobirama lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I had a feeling you'd tell them."

"Oh…"

Tobirama gazed at her forlorn profile. He slipped a hand beneath the fold of his kosode. "Here. This is yours, I believe."

Aoi lifted her head, wondering what it was of hers that he had. Her breath hitched in her throat. With trembling hands, she took the navy silk handkerchief from him. She ran a tentative thumb over one of the embroidered yellow ginkgo leaves adorning the silk.

"Where did you find it?" she asked, her voice quivering in a mixture of fear and awe.

"Near where you fell," Tobirama replied. His team was passing the area on the way to survey the damages caused by the storm. He'd taken a quick detour during their lunch break. "I've cleaned it with water but you probably need a special soap to wash the rest of the dirt off."

A strange noise escaped her.

Tobirama scowled. "What's so funny about what I've said?"

Aoi shook her head. _Nothing._

She gazed at the silk in her hands. She thought she'd lost it for good, having dropped it somewhere in the Old Forest, and wondered if it's real. _Oh, but it is._

"This handkerchief –" Aoi held it out for Tobirama to see "– is a gift from my father. Before that, it belonged to him. Each of these ginkgo leaves was sewn by hand. I heard my mother spent months on them." She pressed the handkerchief to her chest, her lips curling and the corners rising. " _Thank you_. Thank you for returning it to me, Tobirama. Thank you."

She looked at him.

 _Really_ , looked at him.

Her eyes caught the late afternoon light, specks of gold appeared to dance happily on the azure surface.

' _This smile,'_ thought Tobirama, as a cool summer breeze swept through the bamboo grove, tousling Aoi's amber locks. _'It's a good look.'_

* * *

 _Another year ended. Another began._

 _Though the restriction had long passed, it wasn't until winter thawed and wild vegetables sprouted from the mountain soils that a ten-year-old Aoi dared to venture out the gates again._

 _He wouldn't participate in the foraging, preferring to observe or relax nearby with a book. Sometimes, he was found sleeping. Little by little, she grew accustomed to his presence and wouldn't be startled if they bumped into each other on the track or was asked he could tag along._

 _The war continued. But for a while, everything seemed alright. The rainy season arrived in the valley and, in the midst of it, Hashirama met a certain boy of his age at a river._

* * *

 **I'm sorry update took this long. The week after I'd uploaded the previous chapter, I was struck with fever and stomach flu. Yes, it's not nice as it sounds. While the symptoms disappeared after two days, it took me another two to three days recover my strength and write. Otherwise, update would've been sooner.  
**

 **Anyways, as you can tell from the last line, the current arc is coming to an end. Most likely, the next chapter. This, I can't say how long it'll take me. So I apologise in advance.**

 **Thank you for the reviews, favs, and follows!  
**

 **Please leave a message if you got any questions or feedback. Otherwise, thank you for reading and see you next chapter! :)**


	10. Chapter 10 - Part I

...

 **PART I**

...

Aoi bowed her head.

She offered a greeting, a simple good morning. She then informed him of her good health and asked that he'd continue watching over her and her parents. She moved on to the mundane things in her life; the wet weather they're constantly having, her studies, her troublemaking but lovable cat. The list went on. All the while, her lips remained perfectly still.

The snap of a branch pulled her attention away, reeling her awareness back to her surroundings. _How long had she been here?_ The ten-year-old girl couldn't tell the time in this dark world. Footfalls. Muffled thumps on earth were approaching from somewhere to her left.

She ended her tale quickly, wishing the man peace, and opened her eyes.

"You're done?" asked Tobirama, as he emerged from behind a tree. He'd left to give her privacy but stayed close enough to know she's safe and get to her quickly if she called for help.

Aoi stood up and turned around, her ponytail swaying behind her head. The fabric in her hair, deceptively russet in the shadows, was a strip of white cotton. After what happened last summer, the much-cherished silk was donned only at home and kept in the safety of her drawers when she's going outside.

"Give me a few moments to tidy things up here."

Tobirama bobbed his head understanding. His gaze was drawn to the strand of prayer beads entwined in her fingers as Aoi moved her hands to remove the amulet. He watched it disappearing under her sash before looking away.

A slab of rock stood before Aoi. It stared back with a face devoid of any inscriptions marking the grave.

A breeze had blown the wild summer flowers she'd laid down earlier slightly askew. After straightening them up, she placed a pebble on top of the flowers like a paperweight for good measure and stepped back to appraise her work. The twigs and leaves the cedar tree shredded had all been cleared away. There wasn't much could be done about the grass or the stubborn bits of moss clinging to the headstone. This place was in the middle of the forest, after all.

Aoi wrapped up her cleaning tools in her furoshiki and secured it onto her back. With a nod at Tobirama, they began the long trek back to the Senju's village.

They followed a path cleared through the forest by her father. It was a fine summer morning. The sun was out, warming the air and bathing the forest floor in dappled lights. A light breeze kept the temperatures at a comfortable level. Birds chirped away in the trees as if celebrating the occasion. Aoi took in the peaceful ambience, hands folded behind her back. Her companion walked a couple of steps ahead of her. A year ago, she wouldn't have thought it was possible to tolerate Tobirama's presence. Much less, imagine they'd become friends today.

They spoke from time to time as they headed down to a river. Though the majority of their travel was spent in companionable silence.

Unlike Hashirama and Itama, Tobirama wasn't talkative. Neither was he reserved with his opinions, especially when he strongly felt it needed voicing. He'd get riled up when they're talking about something he's passionate about, or if something had gotten under his skin and he needed to vent. It wasn't unusual to hear a complaint or two on the 'big idiot of an elder brother'. The sorts of mischief Hashirama would get into, and how often Tobirama had to put his foot down provided endless amusing tales. Despite the many rants, Aoi was certain Tobirama held his older brother in high regards and cared very deeply about his siblings.

She snuck a furtive look at the side of Tobirama's profile. His posture was relaxed, his strides unhurried. Aoi, however, knew the twelve-year-old boy was on the constant alert for anything suspicious. They might be in Senju territory but the village was a fair distance away from this part of the forest.

Tobirama's eyes had a sharp look in them as they gazed ahead. He wasn't just dressed for a training session he's attending with his brothers later in the day; even her father always carried his kunai. Aoi eyed the katana strapped onto Tobirama's back. He'd once said the shinobi tools were, more often than not, forged without considering children. How he's able to carry the katana's weight without breaking a single sweat was beyond her understanding. It's ridiculous and incredible at the same time.

"That prayer beads of yours," said Tobirama, peering back at her over his shoulder. "I've never seen you wear them."

"I don't use it much," Aoi admitted, "except on special occasions at the shrine. Maybe sometimes when I'm meditating. Otherwise, I always keep them here." She placed a hand on her abdomen, where she could feel the prayer beads poking back from underneath her sash.

"Is there a picture or writings inside the largest bead?"

Aoi nodded. It's unsurprising he was aware of such things. He's smart and travelled a lot. "I discovered it by accident. It's an image of a temple," she said, triggering his curiosity further.

"May I have a look?"

Tobirama waited until she'd brought out the prayer beads to hold out his hand. He was careful as he handled her amulet. Lifting it up, he saw the temple as she'd mentioned. He twisted the bead from side to side, causing the light shining through the image to scintillate.

"It's not one I've seen before," he admitted, passing the prayer beads back to Aoi.

There was hesitation in her movement as she tucked the amulet back under her sash. Her half-lidded azure eyes, no longer resting on his person, had a far-off look in them. Her voice sounded just as detached. "My father found the prayer beads on _that man_ ," she revealed.

 _That man…_

Aoi would describe her past like a bottomless sea of black ink. She couldn't remember anything beyond waking up in the infirmary four years ago. Even her earlier memories of recovering from her injuries in an isolation hut were foggy. She only knew what she'd been told by her parents, ' _rescued during a typhoon'_. It didn't feel important to know the details. As such, she'd never felt inclined to ask. She was far more content being Senju Aoi, daughter of Manabu and Tsubo.

It was the Spring after Aoi turned ten.

She was brought to the grave where she was told everything under the cedar tree by her father. She'd listened in complete shock, as he recounted the night his patrol found her in the remote mountains to the east. _There had been another._ Not far from where they'd found her, they'd uncovered _a man._

He was cold and limp long before they'd pulled him out of the debris. _The man_ was brought back to the village and later buried under the cedar tree in the outskirts of the valley. Her father believed _the man_ could be her 'blood' relative, citing similarities between their physical appearances – notably their red hairs. How they're exactly related, he wasn't sure. Except the man appeared too old to be her brother.

A cousin? An uncle?

Perhaps… _a father_?

Aoi couldn't wrap her head around the idea that another man who wasn't Senju Manabu was her father. It was strange – _impossible_ to think like that.

"Do you suppose it'll tell you something about your past? Like a clue?" Tobirama mused aloud, his voice bringing her back to the present.

Aoi wrung her hands together. "I-I…" she trailed off into an uneasy silence, unsure where to begin, how to tell him.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Tobirama quickly apologised.

Aoi gave him a half-hearted smile. "It's okay. I know I can't run away from it forever. It's just that…" she faltered. She turned her gaze away from him. She took in a deep calming breath. "I don't really want to know. Right now, I'm quite content with my life here – Oh, look!" she suddenly gasped in astonishment, indicating at a clump of shrubs ahead of them.

She broke into a run, her breath coming out in puffs of air.

Tobirama stared after her. It was obvious her past was a sore subject. Deciding to drop the matter, he contented himself with watching Aoi. She was searching for something on the ground. It was then he noticed the red berries.

Aoi's eyes sparkled with delight as she plunged her hands among the grass.

There was something oddly fulfilling in watching her, a child like him, finding joy and intrigue in the little things around them. The war affected people from every walks of life, and it's the ordinary civilians who suffered the brunt of it. The hardships, unspeakable horrors they endured on daily basis, Tobirama had seen them with his very eyes. Aoi had told him about the man buried under the cedar. Tobirama wondered if their lives were perhaps in a danger so grave they were driven to traverse one of the deadliest mountain range in the country, and in treacherous weather condition in order to escape their fates – Tobirama would never know.

Perhaps it was also fate that'd brought her father and his patrol to Aoi. Now, living among the Senju clan, she'd have better chances of living to adulthood. Here, she's fed and clothed. Here, she had a roof over her head and access to medicines.

And she wasn't a shinobi.

Aoi was fortunate.

Tobirama lengthened his strides. He caught up with her in a few steps. "What are you doing?" he asked out of curiosity, coming to a stop behind Aoi's stooping form.

"Yamamomo!" chirped Aoi. She stood up and turned to him. One in each hand, she held the red bayberries up in front of his perplexed face. "I knew it! They're just like your eyes."

"My eyes look nothing like that," came the retort.

"They're as red as yours," Aoi reasoned. She lowered her arms to scrutinise the berries a second time. "Hmm… well, almost." She lifted her shoulders in a flippant shrug and flashed him a toothy grin before walking away, leaving a bemused Tobirama staring after her as she strode up to a yamamomo shrub.

Tobirama shook off the stupor. He furrowed his brows into a scowl. "I still don't see any resemblance," he mumbled under his breath. He joined her at her side.

The ground was littered with berries of red to purplish red. Aoi plucked the closest berry she could reach from the shrub. After wiping the dirt off, she tossed the berry into her mouth and chewed.

Her whole face lit up. She swallowed the remnants before speaking. "It's sweet! Here, youtry one too, Tobirama."

Tobirama took the proffered berry. "It is good," he agreed after taking a bite.

Aoi eagerly fished out a pouch. She held it out to him in one hand, the other already reaching back for more berries. Tobirama raised an eyebrow but took it from her nonetheless. They must have spent at least five minutes in the shade of the yamamomo shrub, the pouch growing heavier as time passed. At one point, Tobirama had to pull down a branch that was out of Aoi's reach; she barely reached his shoulders. He cradled the bulging pouch in one arm to his chest, while he held onto the branch with his free hand in a steady grip.

Peering over the berries, Aoi sent him a smile of gratitude.

Suddenly, they were standing in the rice fields. Snow was everywhere. She was wearing a haori over her kimono, an itchy woollen scarf and earmuffs. The plum blossoms under her were the most beautiful shade of red she'd ever seen.

It was her first winter here,Aoi remembered as she picked the bayberries off the branch. She realised Tobirama had tried to lend a hand way back then.

…

"Thank you for coming with me, Tobirama," said Aoi.

They were crossing a river. Or rather, Tobirama was doing the crossing and she was riding on his back. He'd repositioned his katana onto his front in order to carry her. Likewise, her slippers were stowed on her back, stuffed in her sash. If she dropped them into, she'd never see them again; her mother wouldn't be pleased they'd have to make another pair.

"It's important to you, right? So there's nothing to thank me for," Tobirama replied, eyes fixed ahead.

 _Important?_ Aoi never saw it that way. Since her father first took her to the grave, she'd been accompanying him on his once-a-month visit, doing it out of duty to fulfil her promise to him that she'd continue the pilgrimage. Even if, one day, her father couldn't be with her anymore, she would go. And Aoi would be lying to herself if she denied feeling guilty for not being able to remember anything about _that man_. Though it wasn't her fault.

In a way, it truly was important.

"But who knows if I could've made it this month," Aoi pointed out, the need to argue for her gratitude stronger after he'd helped her realise the significance of the grave visit. Sometimes it's hard to tell if he was being humble, nonchalant or down-to-earth. "It's the rainy season. When is the next time we'll get a good weather like this?" She'd be hard-pressed not to go on a day when it wasn't pouring 24/7.

She could rearrange her lessons with Miyako-sama, but it wasn't possible for her father to abandon his shift at last minute's notice. Unless a miracle happened on one of her father's rest days, the trip would've been put on hold until the rainy season was over – a quandary that'd left her disheartened – if it weren't for Tobirama.

Tobirama was a good listener and offered helpful advice; he was the one who picked up on her mood. He's also trustworthy. So when he'd asked if she was okay, Aoi didn't hesitate and told him everything. That same evening, he'd come to her house to discuss the matter with her father. She'd been there with them, and it still baffled her how Tobirama managed to talk her protective father into permitting them to go together.

But it'd worked, and now the two children were on their way back home.

Aoi peered over Tobirama's shoulder. A fish darted out of a way in a dark blur just as Tobirama lowered his foot down onto the water. For a moment, she imagined his foot sinking right through.

Tobirama walked on, confidently as if on solid ground. Ringlets rippled out across the river's surface around them in mesmerising patterns, his steps giving rise to the harmonious _plop-plop_ sounds. It's mind-boggling the many feats a shinobi could achieve with chakra. Aoi was envious.

"What do you think you're doing?" demanded Tobirama, glaring at her reproachfully over his shoulder. "This part is very deep. Move around too much and you'll fall."

"Sorry," Aoi mumbled, freckled cheeks flushed a deep red. She drew her hand back and readjusted her arms around his neck. On her father's back, the river had always seemed out of reach. It was a silly whim.

Tobirama heaved a soundless sigh. _'One day, she's going to get herself killed if she doesn't think carefully before she acts.'_ Not long after, he felt her shifting on his back again. He snapped his mouth opened to reprimand her.

Before he could draw in a breath to speak, Aoi beat him to it.

"What's that large thing flowing down the river towards us? Some kind of a fish?"

"Where?" Tobirama blurted, glancing about.

"Over there," Aoi gestured. "By where the river starts to bend, next to the cattails."

Tobirama shifted his gaze in the direction of her finger indicated. Alarm bells blared inside his head. He tightened his hold around the back of Aoi's legs, shouting, "Hang on!"

Without giving her a second to think, he leapt into the air. Aoi squeezed her eyes shut against the slicing wind, a terrified scream lodged in her throat. There was a strong thud when they landed on the opposite riverbank. The impact was juddering.

Aoi slid off Tobirama's back, her bare feet scuffing the ground as she regained her balance. "What was that for?" she barked, hands on hips. "Why did you jump? My heart almost stopped back there!"

"Be quiet!" he hissed. Tobirama swung his katana around, positioning it on his back, and took her shoulders.

Aoi's world briefly spun in front of her eyes, and when it stopped she was staring agape at the trees.

"Listen." Tobirama's voice was clear and serious. "Stay _here_. Don't turn around or look back. I'll come back in a minute."

The iron grip of his hands disappeared from her shoulders. Aoi let out a shaky breath of air she didn't know she'd been holding.

It's too early to let her guard down. Whatever she saw back there unsettled Tobirama. The raucous splashing of water behind her signalled something dire and only served to put her on the edge. She couldn't see with her back to the river. She strained to hear over the warbling currents, wringing her hands anxiously together. It had gone quiet all of a sudden. _What's happening? What's Tobirama doing back there?_

A mosquito darted around her. Every time it came too close to her ears, its piercing buzz increasingly grated on her already frayed nerves. Aoi waved it away but the pesky insect kept coming back. She swiped at the air blindly, unable to see the tiny pest. A sharp pain on her neck caused her to wince. She swung her hand down. She counted to three in her head and lifted her hand from her neck. She got the mosquito!

The jubilant moment was short-lived.

Aoi had unknowingly turned her head around to check if she'd killed the mosquito. The river flowed before her eyes, and there was Tobirama further up. He had his back to her, using chakra to squat on the river's surface. There was something in the water at his feet. She saw him flipped it over and couldn't repress the loud gasp escaping her.

Tobirama's head whirled around at the sound. He swore under his breath. He let go of the body and rose to his full height. He made the jump back onto the riverbank, landing right in front of a pale-faced Aoi.

"Idiot! I told you _not_ to look!" he lambasted her.

Aoi dropped her gaze in remorse. "I-I'm sorry," she sputtered. "There was a mosquito. I couldn't help it," she tried to reason, even if it was a pathetic one and showed him the black smudge on her palm.

"You idiot," Tobirama sighed in resignation, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Aoi mumbled another sheepish apology, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She glanced behind him. There was a large, dark object bobbing in the river's current as it floated away. "Is that… a body?" she asked with morbid interest.

She'd caught a glimpse of a human hand earlier. Its skin had been an unearthly white.

"Yes," grunted Tobirama, watching the body flowed further down the river. He was relieved that he'd turned it over at the right moment, so she didn't see a mangled face. "A shinobi from the Hagoromo clan."

"Hagoromo?" Aoi tore her gaze from the river and looked at him, eyes wide like saucers. " _That_ Hagoromo? Aren't we fighting them at the moment?"

"We are," he affirmed.

The battle she spoke of was happening outside Senju boundaries. The Hagoromo shinobi probably fell into the river and was carried downstream. It was unfortunate Aoi had seen it.

Tobirama clenched and unclenched his hands. "Come on," he exhaled. "Let's not hang around any longer."

Aoi wasn't opposed to the idea. The shinobi's body had drifted out of sight but she wasn't keen on lingering by the river. After putting her slippers back on, they set off again.

"Are they coming?" she asked.

"No," Tobirama said, firmly. "We're perfectly safe here." Catching the look of apprehension marring her face, his features softened a little. "Don't worry, your father is fine. He's on the other side of the valley, remember?"

Aoi mustered a weak smile and nodded. In agreement and in thanks for his reassurance.

The children walked side by side, keeping pace with one another. Neither broke the silence between them. What was a pleasant atmosphere had been tarnished by the Hagoromo shinobi's body.

Every now and then, Tobirama would steal a worried glance at Aoi. Growing up in this war-torn era, the concept of death was no stranger to either of them. They're both Senju, a mercenary clan actively engaging in warfare. But Aoi wasn't a shinobi. She wasn't accustomed to the point of being desensitised to death like him.

"We're here," he announced, less than half an hour later. The familiar shape of the village's gate and the line of bamboos stood just behind the thickets.

Tobirama took out his happuri from his kosode. He swept his hair back, holding it in place as he slipped the armour on. The Senju clan's insignia was displayed proudly on his forehead.

He turned to Aoi. "This is where we part."

"Thanks for today," said Aoi. "And good luck in your training."

"Thanks. Well then, I'm off."

Tobirama hadn't moved more than five steps when her voice rang out. He turned around in puzzlement.

Aoi strode up to him. "Here, take this with you." She pushed the pouch of yamamomo into his arms. "Consider it a thank-you gift." Tobirama began to protest. She cut him off, her tone light and chiding. "Stop being stubborn! Just take the berries with you. Enjoy them with your brothers."

"Fine," Tobirama relented with a sigh. "Thank you," he added.

"You're welcome," Aoi beamed, looking visibly pleased. Turning on her heels, she paused to wave over her shoulder. "See you later then."

Tobirama stayed long enough to watch her walked through the gate before starting down the forest path in the opposite direction. Her broad smile had imprinted in his mind.

* * *

Being at the wrong place at the wrong time ended painfully for Aoi one morning.

She hadn't reacted fast enough. She'd been walking along the path back to the village when someone fell through the bush. There were a mighty thud and a chorus of yelps when their bodies collided, the force sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Aoi shifted in agony, a groan rising from her throat. Somewhere nearby, she heard the other person retching and spitting out what she assumed was dirt and grass.

"Ew! Bleurgh! That was gross!"

More retching. More heaving. The voice, a boy's – a regrettably familiar boy – emitted a gasp of horror.

"Aoi! Are you alright?"

A pair of strong arms pulled her up. Aoi sat on the ground, cradling her left arm.

The boy knelt before her. "I'm really sorry. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Aoi peered up at a nervous-looking Hashirama hovering over her. His hands were stretched out as if frightened she would fall again. In a calm voice, she said, "I think I'm bleeding."

He screamed.

Aoi didn't think a thirteen-year-old boy was capable of producing such a high-pitched noise that easily rivalled a mosquito. She sat back and watched Hashirama skipped from one foot to another and pulling at his hair in sheer panic. She felt a curious prick of déjà vu at the back of her mind, as if she'd seen this before.

She shook it off and reached for Hashirama's haori. She tugged at the hem to grab his attention, raising her voice over his frenzied shouts. "I'm just kidding! It's only a scratch!" She showed him her left arm.

A patch of skin was chafed and looked like a bruise might form. At least it wasn't bleeding. That wasn't enough to placate Hashirama though.

"Let's go to the river and have that cleaned up."

The older boy continued to fuss over her, ignoring her protests as he helped her onto her feet. He looked around in dismay. There were vegetables strewn everywhere, having spewed from her basket during the fall.

"Oh, geez! What a mess," he bemoaned, stooping down to gather the vegetables into his arms. "I'm so sorry. They're all dirty now."

"It's fine, Hashirama. It was an accident," said Aoi, turning around so he could drop the vegetables into the basket on her back. "Anyway, the vegetables will be washed sooner or later. And I'm fine," she added wearily when he grabbed her wrist and dragged her with him. She'd been to the river minutes ago.

She exhaled an air of defeat. ' _I just want to go home and nap.'_

…

Aoi dipped her hands into the river. The temperature was cool and soothing at this time of the year. She rolled up her sleeves and splashed water onto her arms. Hashirama was scrubbing his dirt-smeared face at her side. He hadn't noticed the leaves tangled in his hair yet.

She paused to regard the older boy out from the corner of her eyes, noting the haori and funny-looking scarf around his neck. It was June and yet, he was dressed up as if it's late winter.

"Out of curiosity, what were you doing out here?" Aoi asked once they're back on the path and heading home together.

Hashirama jerked in surprise. He quickly recovered; for an unfathomable reason, her question seemed to fluster him.

"What was I doing? Err…" He mumbled something indistinct; his eyes had a hard time looking straight. Then his face lit up like he had a sudden epiphany. "Beetle hunting!" he exclaimed.

"Beetle hunting?" Aoi echoed.

"That's right!"

She resisted the temptation to remind him it's still too early to find good beetles. ' _He's hiding something_.'She kept her composure in check and went with the flow. "Really? On your own?" Aoi asked, her voice betraying nothing. "Without a net or at least a cage to keep your beetle?"

Hashirama wagged a finger. "I don't want anyone getting ahead of me in the game. Not even my brothers. And let's not forget that I'm a mighty shinobi!" he proclaimed, puffing his chest out. "We, shinobis are skilled warriors! I don't need a net. All I need are my bare hands!" He wriggled his fingers at Aoi, grinning ear to ear.

Aoi hummed, feigning intrigue. "Then can I see your beetle?" she asked.

All that confidence and pride deflated like a punctured ball. "Well, it… it, umm, it flew away."

"Not so mighty now, huh?" Aoi said with a teasing lilt. Her whole act had affirmed her suspicion, and beetle hunting was certainly not what he had engaged in. But it didn't seem like it was anything grievous. Surely, she's overreacting? He's Hashirama after all.

Hashirama crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. "Honestly, you're as bad as Tobirama. You've been spending so much time with him lately that it's making Itama jealous. Tobirama's rubbing off on you, isn't he?"

"Is he, _what_?" Aoi was genuinely astonished by this observation.

Hashirama puffed his cheeks out in a pout.

The image reminded Aoi of a chubby squirrel she saw in the mountain the other day. She giggled, which only peeved him more. He was easy to tease. She didn't get to talk to Hashirama as often as before. Since the beginning of Spring, it was one battle after another. Even now, his youngest brother, Kawarama was fighting.

Aoi thought of Tobirama. The brothers' personalities were like night and day. Where Tobirama was level-headed, Hashirama was more expressive and always bursting with energy. Perhaps it's why she preferred the company of the former. It was less exhaustive being around Tobirama.

"Hey, Aoi. What do you think of a world without war?" Hashirama suddenly asked.

She glanced at him, bewildered. _What brought out this topic?_

Seeing he's waiting for her response, Aoi pondered on the subject. "How many generations has the Senju been fighting?" she asked instead, as if to point out a serious flaw. She knew the answer to that, and so would he.

Hashirama looked unable to think of a proper reply to that.

Aoi cast her eyes up. Here, the forest canopies were dense the blue sky couldn't be seen, but she knew it's there. "But," she continued, "it sounds nice."

She listened without interrupting his impassioned speech as he spoke of his vision. It wasn't just a world where war ceased to exist in every nation. But a future where shinobi clans of differing philosophies and ideals could live _together_ in harmony _._

 _Was it possible? A peaceful world this thirteen-year-old boy beside her dreamed of?_

For decades, the war was driven by the primal need for survival, greed and hatred that ran deeper than the roots of any ancient trees, and family honour. That's what her teacher taught her.

Aoi studied Hashirama as he talked animatedly, gesturing with his hands with that seemingly endless energy of his. She saw a glimpse of the Senju's next clan head. Tall, proud and unshakable. She honestly hoped he'd give up on the mushroom haircut by then. Or at least let Tobirama tie him down and cut his hair. He seemed embarrassed by it.

They bade each other farewell at the village's gate. Hashirama had promised to train a group of younger children.

Walking down an empty street, Aoi imagined a life without war.

* * *

For a long stretch of silence, she couldn't process what her mother had said. It was a while before the shock abated and Aoi found her voice again. "What did you say, okaa-chan?" she asked.

Her mother shook her head and merely tightened her hold around her. The moment she stepped through the front door, she'd thrown her arms around Aoi and hadn't let go since.

Tsubo pressed her cheek into Aoi's soft hair. Breathing in the scent of her daughter calmed her down enough to speak. Her voice, barely a whisper, was broken. A window into her heart. "Kawarama's dead."

There were scores others too. Names Aoi knew, faces she'd seen, smiles she'd greeted. The Senju had suffered a tremendous loss in the latest battle.

The morning after the burials, the valley rose silently with the sun. Her fellow clansmen went about their lives as usual but there lacked the vigour of before. Everyone was mourning the dead.

The gate of the main family's house was firmly shut. It was quiet. Nobody seemed to be inside. Aoi, however, knew that her mother and Genta were at Kiyohana's bedside. The matriarch had fainted upon hearing the news of her son's death. Her youngest. All too soon, another was taken.

Aoi wept all night thinking about Itama, and the boyish smile he gave her the evening before he'd departed with his unit. She smothered her tears into her pillow, for fear of disturbing her parents in the next room. She barely had a wink of sleep.

The next morning, she was scolded by Miyako for nearly burning down her stove. Her teacher, aware of the news, took pity and sent her home after lunch. Thick, murky clouds choked the sky, shrouding the valley in an uneasy shadow.

Aoi came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the bamboo grove. She didn't want to go home just yet. Her parents were working right now, and something had been nagging at her. She hadn't seen hair nor hide of him since Kawarama's death. She looked and looked everywhere. From the terraced rice fields to the clan shrine. The river was the last place she checked.

Aoi stepped out from the shadows of the trees, hoping to find a figure brooding under the weeping willow. Alas, he wasn't at his favourite fishing spot either. She peered up at the leaden sky, the dreary colours reflected on the river.

Heart heavy in her chest, she dragged herself back home. The first drop of rain fell minutes later. She slumped her shoulders and trudged on.

' _Maybe he was there at the river earlier and I just missed him. I wish I have his sensory skill,'_ Aoi glumly thought, greeting the sentries as she passed through the gate.

The two men acknowledged with a nod and glanced away. Their facial expressions were equally sombre.

 _"You."_

At the authoritative tone and rattle of armour behind her, Aoi froze in her tracks. She hadn't heard him approach at all. She hated it when the shinobi do that. It's obnoxious and bad for the heart. It wasn't just anyone though. She knew the gravelly voice even with her back to him. The clan head had this unmistakable imposing aura he carried around.

She turned around, praying she wasn't making it looked obvious she's doing it reluctantly. Being shorter Aoi tilted her head back, and she tried not to flinch when her eyes met Butsuma's steely gaze. She was struck by the startling similarities in the way father and son held themselves.

"Have you seen Hashirama?" asked Butsuma.

Aoi mentally breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't in trouble for something she did.

She shook her head. "No, sir."

The heavy sigh from the clan head puzzled her as much as his enquiry on Hashirama's whereabouts. They were searching for the different brother. For a moment, the irony amused her.

Butsuma folded his arms, tapping an index finger on his elbow pensively. "I see," he rumbled. "Thanks." The latter was added more as an afterthought.

Aoi stepped aside from his way, receiving a nod of appreciation. Suddenly, she was hit by a realisation. Butsuma would know where she could find his other son, seeing as Tobirama was the least of his concern.

She lifted her head, lips parting. She abruptly stopped herself, alarmed at the sight of the aged face.

Butsuma walked past her without being stopped.

Aoi stared at the back of his retreating figure, the echoes of clattering armour fading as the clan head moved further down the street. She almost couldn't recognise him for a second back there. Was he having troubles sleeping at night?

* * *

One sunny afternoon found Aoi wandering down a weather-beaten path outside the village, lost in the depths of thoughts. A week and a half had gone by since Butsuma approached her out of the blues. With no clues or news, the knot of anxiety in her stomach only grew tighter with each day passed.

 _Something was amiss._

Nobody she asked had seen Tobirama. Not even her mother, who along with Genta and another doctor were permitted inside the main family's house. Kiyohana recently was able to sit up in bed with a little assistance, but she wasn't completely out of the woods yet. Butsuma had placed a restriction prohibiting visitors for fear of impeding her recovery progress. So even if Aoi wanted to check, it was impossible. For all she knew, Tobirama was standing behind the wooden gate of his house. It's frustrating, but there's nothing she could do about it.

A large shadow flickered among the branches.

Aoi snapped her eyes up to the trees. Hope swelled inside her chest – only for it to burst like a bubble at the sight of the distinctive black hair waving in the wind. She let out a dejected sigh.

It was Hashirama.

Aoi stopped to watch the older boy leaping from tree to tree. He hadn't noticed her feet below on the ground when he'd passed her. He seemed to be in a hurry to goodness-knows-where.

She recalled the hushed conversation she'd overheard drifting from her parents' bedroom a few nights ago. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop of course. It happened that the walls were literally paper thin, and her parents had assumed she was asleep. Though in reality, her thoughts had kept her awake – and after hearing what was said about Hashirama – most of the night.

She knew a reinforcement unit had been mobilised in the wee hours to a battlefield in close proximity to the Senju's land in the northeast. What she didn't know was that Hashirama was involved in the operation, and Itama was killed in the very same battle.

Her heart went out to Hashirama. To lose one brother, and to see another dead in front of his eyes; both the youngest in the family. _The pain. The guilt._ She couldn't imagine what the older boy's going through. His unabashed love for his siblings wasn't unheard of.

Aoi flinched when something wet dripped onto her freckled cheeks. She was crying without realising.

She swiftly dried her eyes on her sleeve and returned her gaze to Hashirama. _'Where is he going? Training?'_ she pondered. It wasn't strange for shinobi to train alone in the forest. Was that what Tobirama's doing all this while? Training? She hadn't checked the training grounds for fear of unknowingly walking right into a literal death trap. She didn't know which one he frequented, to begin with. _'But Hashirama would,'_ she thought, cupping the sides of her mouth.

"Hashi –" Her voice abruptly died in her throat.

She spun on her heels and glanced around, the hairs on the back of her hair up. The path was empty; no voices, no sounds of approaching footsteps. The strange sensation of being watched had disappeared, and so had Hashirama. He was nowhere in sight.

Aoi cursed her paranoia. She'd lost another chance. Begrudgingly, she started down the path.

Foraging in the mountain had always been a leisure. Today, she found it an absolute chore and dreadfully tedious. She took several breaks in between to stare off into space. The hours seemed to pass at snail's pace. By the time she had descended from the mountain, the curved bottom of the sun was brushing the rugged mountain peaks in the west.

The sudden change from the dull crunch of earth to the sharp clicking pebbles underfoot snapped her out of the trance-like state.

Aoi stared at the river in disbelief. Its water glinted in the sunlight like a myriad of stars on a turquoise sky. She had come to the river without realising.

Her eyes darted to the weeping willow and widened at the figure occupying the very spot. For a moment, she wondered if he's there to catch ayu for dinner but she didn't see a fishing rod or bucket. Tobirama was sitting cross-legged on the ground, gazing out into the river with a thoughtful expression. His brows were furrowed, the corners of his pursed lips pulled taut as if he's biting the flesh inside. His hands resting on his knees were balled tightly into fists, the knuckles were visibly sheet-white from where Aoi stood.

She hesitated before approaching him with wary steps. If he'd sensed her presence, which he should by now, he didn't show any visible signs. She was very close now. She lifted a hand.

Tobirama ducked his head out of the way before she could touch a single strand of his hair. He raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked.

She yanked her hand back, clutching it to her chest. She had wanted to check if he's real. "I was wondering if this is a genjutsu," she said, sheepishly.

He looked affronted. "Genjutsu doesn't work like that," he 'helpfully' informed.

Aoi threw her hands up before he could launch into a longwinded explanation. He had done it before with chakra. Whilst she's keen to learn something new, now wasn't the ideal time.

Tobirama regarded her silently before shifting his gaze back to the river. He was pensive for a few moments. When he spoke again, his voice was low and guarded. "I know what you want to you say." He paused. "I'm fine."

Aoi didn't believe that. She opened her mouth. Then closed it again. The words that'd been piling up inside her head over the past days were suddenly unreachable. "Do you… want to talk about it?" she eventually asked in a tentative voice. From her observations, talking had always been her parents' way of seeking comfort in words and the presence of another.

She wrung her fingers in her kimono's skirt as she waited for a response, heart thrumming like taiko drums against her ribcage. Tobirama was quiet. He sat very still, he looked as if carved from stone.

A gust of wind blew. Leaves were picked off the ground, rising and swirling into the air. The trees around them churned and hissed, their branches creaked and bent under the force. A row of storm clouds was marching across the sky, pushing away the lesser white clouds from their paths, to cover the sun. The river was thrown into a veil of darkness.

Tobirama rose to his feet. His platinum hair, grey in the dark, shivered in the restless wind. Aoi held her breath. She wasn't sure what he's going to say. He's like a riddle that she's struggling to figure. Then he turned and walked around her.

"It's got nothing to do with you," he said.

* * *

 **Thank you for the reviews, follows and favs!**

 **I know it's been *checks calendar* 84 years - erm, nope? The last time I updated was in July? Sorry for the long wait! I had previously stated the current arc will end in chapter 10, but with the amount of contents built up as I wrote, I have split it into two parts. The good news is, part 2 has been written. The bad news is, I'm going off on a holiday and I can't edit the next chapter as a result. I will be back after a week and start editing the draft of part 2 then. I'll post the occasional update on my progress on my profile.  
**

 **In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this update and look forward to the next.** ** **Admittedly, these two parts were the most challenging chapters I've written to date because of the theme, death.** If you have any feedback, questions or comments please leave them in a review! I'll appreciate it a lot! **

**Character age list: **

**Aoi - 10**

 **Tobirama - 12**

 **Hashirama - 13**

 **Kawarama - 7**

 **Itama - 8**

 **Thank you for reading and see you next chapter ~**


	11. Chapter 10 - Part II

Like a grey carpet rolled over the valley, the July sky was shrouded in murky, low-hanging clouds. In the yard, hydrangeas of blues and purples bobbed in the trickling rain as if they're nodding sagely at each other. Manabu sat on the porch at a good distance from the rain, a worn rag spread across his lap as he cleaned his katana. Holding its handle in one hand, he swiped a cloth up and down the blade in a practised motion. His collection of kunai and shuriken were laid out in front him on top of a straw mat, waiting for their turn to be inspected and polished.

Manabu turned the katana experimentally and admired the way light danced off the blade's surface. He smiled in satisfaction, deepening the crow's feet around his dark eyes. His reflection on the blade mirrored him to perfection.

"Good. Almost done."

He put down the cloth and leaned forward to grab the uchiko ball.

Out of nowhere, spurts of water came flying in his direction. He flinched when it hit him squarely in the right eye, a yelp jumping from his throat, and accidentally dropped the uchiko ball back onto the floor. Thankfully, he had a firm hold on his katana or he would've sliced off a good chunk of his flesh.

Manabu cursed under his breath.

He rubbed his knuckles over his maimed eye, blinking a few times to rid the rest of the moisture, and glanced down at his katana. His lower jaw fell open. Horror was quickly replaced by fury bubbling up inside him like water reaching its boiling point. His hands began to tremble, and he tightened his grip around the handle, sending waves of tremor shooting up and down the length of his rattling katana.

There was a _thump_ of something heavy striking the floor.

He looked up. In front of him was the housecat, back from his own patrol of the vicinity. The rain had drenched his pelt. Mud clung to fur in some places, and a leaf was stuck to his body. Shirogane shook his front paws in disgust. Then, his wet head came next.

Manabu could only look on helplessly as muck was flung everywhere. His katana, marked for the second time on the blade. The sheath he'd polished to a glossy sheen earlier, some of his kunai and shuriken weren't spared from the cruel assault either. He stared at the carnage before him, the look on his face could only be described as devastation. He must have spent at least half an hour painstakingly sharpening, cleaning and oiling his katana. And that's not including its sheath. He's never getting his time back.

A deep breath to clear his mind, he set his katana down, grabbed a clean rag and rose to his feet. He prowled forward, eyes glued onto the cat like a predator in 'lock on' mode. He knew exactly which floorboards creaked and sidestepped those so as not to alert the cat. The cat in question had settled comfortably on the floor, running a pink tongue through his soggy fur.

Manabu began to lower the rag onto the unsuspecting cat, whispering, "Let me help you with that."

At the very last second, Shirogane noticed his shadow on the floor gliding towards him.

The cat made a move to scamper, but Manabu was faster and managed to pin him down in one smooth motion. Sinking onto one knee, he braced his weight against the floor as he held onto the struggling cat. He was being gentle, of course. His grip wouldn't hurt his cat.

Shirogane, however, growled his displeasure and squirmed desperately under the rag. He rolled onto his back and fought back with fervour. He'd grown from the scrawny kitten – barely two months old and smelling slightly of manure – Aoi brought home last Spring to an adult cat with muscles, big bones and fats all packed under his ash-grey fur. It almost moved Manabu to tears. _Almost_ being the keyword here.

"Be a good boy," Manabu said through gritted teeth, "and let me clean you up nicely." He swept the rag up and down the cat's stomach while skilfully dodging the claws and pointed teeth; his reflexes had vastly improved thanks to the many attempts in catching Shirogane after a bath. More than being teased on the belly, which happened to be his most sensitive area, the cat hated being scrubbed with towels, or any similar fabrics like the rag Manabu was using to clean the muck off his coat. But Shirogane was hell bent on making life difficult for him. "Come now! You don't want Tsubo getting mad at you for leaving mud tracks all over the tatami like last time, do you? I'm trying to help you!" And himself. Because ultimately, the blame would bounce back to him. "So, what do you say, buddy? Do we have a deal?"

A snarl was Shirogane's response.

Furs floated around them like dust motes as Man and cat continued to wrestle with each other on the floor. Manabu's weapons laid forgotten behind him.

Then a sigh came from inside the house. A sound so soft, it was almost lost amid the racket were it not for Manabu's keen hearing.

Without breaking off his concentration, he cocked his head in the direction of his daughter's room where the sigh originated. "What's wrong, Aoi?" he asked, voice raised over Shirogane's growls. "You've been sighing nonstop this morning. Are you feeling alright?"

While he worried over his daughter, the distraction was all Shirogane needed. He kicked out with his hindlegs, knocking Manabu's hands away, and bolted for freedom. His paws scrabbled the wooden floorboards as he fled to Aoi's room.

The shoji door was partially opened to allow natural light flow into the bedroom. It'd grown darker since the rain started, but Aoi hadn't moved from her writing desk to light the paper lamp. She sat in the gloom with her elbows propped up on the desk's surface, her chin resting in the cusp of her hands. Her azure eyes peered from beneath half-hooded lids as they stared at the falling rain. There was a far-off look in them, and the eyes appeared glassier reflecting the grey world. They didn't blink when her father deposited his weapons at the door. Nor did they shift when he approached her.

As Manabu lowered himself onto the tatami to sit beside Aoi, his gaze briefly wandered over to Shirogane grooming himself at a corner of the room. Two handscrolls occupied his daughter's desk; there was a small stack of them on the floor at her side. The one furthest away from her was rolled out onto a page showing an illustration depicting an everyday scene of a busy trading post. Time and the elements had gradually eaten away at the ink and paper. By contrast, the scroll her elbows were sitting on was brand-new, the weight of her head causing spiderweb-like creases to form on the otherwise smooth paper. Along the right edge of this scroll were characters scrawled in black ink forming one measly sentence. Manabu was no expert on calligraphy, but even he could recognise a sloppy handwriting if he squinted hard enough. He wasn't sure what Miyako had assigned Aoi but it was obvious his daughter wasn't intending to work on them anytime soon.

A warm amber glow flooded the room.

Manabu moved the lamp closer and sat back to study Aoi's face in the dim light. Instincts told him things like waving a hand in front of her eyes, raising his voice or snapping his fingers right next to her ear wouldn't work. After some deliberation, he reached forward with his hand and touched her forehead as if he's feeling her temperature. In fact, it's a trick to get her to focus on him. Slowly, but surely, the warmth from his hand was drawing her out from her trance-like state.

Aoi lifted her chin and turned around, surprise colouring her freckled face. "Otou-chan?" she murmured and glanced from the hand on her forehead, then back to her father. "What are you doing?"

Relief washed over Manabu. He pulled his hand away and rested it on his thigh, scrunching his brows in a frown. "Is something bothering you? You seem rather – how should I put it, hmm – distracted," he gestured at her unfinished work with a nod of his head.

Looking down at the indicated scroll, Aoi couldn't give him a prompt response.

"Did something happen?"

And she seemed unsure whether to tell him.

Aoi adjusted her sitting posture, her movement stiff from sitting in the same awkward position for a long period. She straightened her back, clasped her hands on her lap and dropped her gaze to them. After a minute of pensive silence, she gave another sigh.

"I think…" She faltered, for a moment. "I think I may have hurt someone."

Now, Manabu's daughter wasn't the type to lash out physically. Which meant it was something she might've said or done that'd 'hurt' this someone of hers. The question was who this _someone_ was. What should he as her father do about it?

"You _think_ , Aoi?" he prompted.

She was wringing her hands together, a habit of hers when she's being bashful or anxious. Right now, it's the latter. "I-I'm not sure myself. But it seems that way." Her father was about to enquire further when she blurted out, "How do I console a person?"

Manabu was already struggling to put two and two together but tried his best to answer. "Erm, well. First off, it depends on the situation."

"That's not helpful," she scowled, the disappointment evident in her voice.

Manabu heaved a heavy sigh; at this point, sighing was becoming a contagious disease. He ruffled up his hair in frustration, thinking up solutions and discarding every single one of them before deciding being direct was his last, and probably best, resort.

"Aoi." He adopted a stern expression, arms folded across his chest. "I can't help you if you don't understand what's going on," he admonished, mildly. "Tell me, starting from who you'd hurt."

Still, Aoi hesitated. Her father was staunch in his stance, and one look she could tell he wouldn't move from his spot unless she came clean.

She hunched forward and muttered, "It's Tobirama."

The moment the name was uttered, it started to make a lot of sense. It's no secret Aoi had been searching for the boy for the past week or so. Manabu was asked to help keep a lookout for her too. Though it sounded like she'd already found him.

"I just wanted to cheer him up. But he said he's fine." Aoi glumly shook her head. " _How_ is that even possible? He lost Kawarama and Itama. And now his mother is…" she trailed off into a disheartened silence, and Manabu was at a loss for words. She turned to him with sorrowful eyes. "How long are we going to continue fighting? When is this war going to end?"

Guilt twisted in Manabu's gut. "I honestly don't know," he responded in remorse. It was painful to admit it out loud. What truly broke the man's heart was seeing the look in his daughter's eyes darkened, as if the azure orbs were sucking out every figment of light in the room.

Tears spilt down her freckled cheeks and glimmered in the glow from the lamp. "It's this stupid war," Aoi murmured, frustration momentarily dripping into her tone. "If it weren't for war, Kawarama and Itama wouldn't have died." At 'died', her voice cracked and wavered with emotions. "They wouldn't have died, otou-chan. Kawarama was only seven. _Seven!_ Why? Why is this ha –"

A rumbling thunder cut through the atmosphere.

Aoi jumped at the awful sound, eyes wide with fear. She threw herself into the safety of her father's opened arms and latched onto him with her thin arms, their grips desperate in seeking comfort even when the sky quietened down. Manabu responded by hugging her closer. He cradled her tenderly and rubbed circles on her trembling back. It was like a dam had shattered. All that pent-up frustration and grievance, she released them all crying into her father's shoulder. Itama was a friend of hers. Though Kawarama was more of an acquaintance, someone she knew through her connection with his brothers, she mourned his death too.

Manabu clenched his eyes shut, feeling his own tears leaking as the sound of his daughter's muffled wails filling his ears. He'd lost friends in the same battles that'd killed the boys. Her pain was as much as his.

But Aoi was still young. So were Itama and Kawarama, and the countless children who died fighting the adults' wars, their innocence ripped away before they reached their tweens. To serve what purpose? _Honour?_ Honour had allowed unscrupulous mercenaries and seedy organisations to take advantage of this practice. Infants snatched from their mothers' arms. Clan and civilian children disappearing under 'mysterious' circumstances. Such reports had been circulating throughout the country for years. _Honour?_ Honour had let their progenies down. Honour had thrown innocent lives into the midst of political wars waged by adults, a den of hungry wolves in the pits of hell. There was no honour in children being used in the battlefields. As cannon fodders. It's unforgivable. But what could possibly be even more abhorrent were the cowardly adults – adults like Manabu – who cowered behind the veil of duty. As a consequence, Aoi and other children were suffering needlessly from a tender age.

His daughter wouldn't understand these now. She's much too young. All he could ask for – in this present moment and in the future, when she's older and wiser – was forgiveness.

Manabu patted her back, rocking her in his arms, as if coaxing an infant to sleep. Aoi hiccupped and wept. His daughter had never felt so tiny and fragile, and his heart ached at his inability to take away her pain.

He peered over her head of amber. Tsubo's hydrangeas stood barely visible in the heavy rain. But they're there in the yard, and he knew they would still greet his eyes with their beauty when the sky ceased crying.

He looked down at Shirogane padding towards them. Drawn by Aoi's cries, he presumed.

The cat meowed. His ears were perked up, a furry stub of a tail twitching in the air, and round blue eyes stared at Aoi intently. Shirogane meowed again, louder, and wouldn't stop until she'd noticed he was there.

Manabu felt Aoi shifting in his arms. He loosened his hold around her and, as she pulled away, he caught a glimpse of a tear-splotched face. Her nose was bright red, and she sniffed harshly to clear the congestion.

Shirogane hopped onto her lap when beckoned forward. His pelt wasn't as sopping-wet as before. It hadn't dried completely either. But Aoi wasn't bothered by his damp fur as he rubbed his head against her wrist.

The cat was heavy. He moved about too much trying to find a comfortable position to lay down on his daughter's lap, Manabu was yelping in pain as his shuffling paws kept finding his sensitive spots. When Shirogane _finally_ settled down, much to his immense relief, Aoi giggled at him.

Manabu huffed, pretending to be offended. "You won't be laughing the next time he stabs you with his feet," he grumbled, pushing the cat's hind-paws from his stomach. He had a nagging suspicion that a revenge had been exacted. He swore the cat gave him the feline equivalent of a smug look.

Aoi covered her mouth, smothering her mirth. She wiggled about to give all three of them more space and laid her head against her father's chest, exhausted and slightly out of breath.

She was close to falling asleep when Shirogane suddenly licked her hand. She moved it away from his tongue to scratch his chin, her other hand fumbling for her handkerchief in her komon. The cat neither flinched nor jumped from her lap in fright when she blew her nose hard into the handkerchief. His eyes were closed and he purred loudly in content. It brought a tiny smile to her face. Her tears had also stopped flowing, much to Manabu's relief.

Aoi apologised for her behaviour.

Manabu merely shook his head and offered his handkerchief, smiling in encouragement when she hesitated. As she cleaned her face, he reflected upon his daughter's words as he stroked Shirogane's neck. Outside, it was still pouring heavily. He probably should get the storm doors out before the rain soaked the entire porch, but he didn't feel like moving just yet even though he would end up having a pair of stiff legs later.

"Let me get this straight," said Manabu. "You tried to comfort Tobirama, but he assured you that he's fine."

Aoi lowered the handkerchief from her puffy eyes. "He said it's got nothing to do with me," she murmured, her voice hoarse from crying. Tobirama's words wounded her more than she thought it possibly could. Not only had he denied needing her help, he'd also rejected coldly and simply walked away from the river without another word. "I don't know if I've done something wrong. All I wanted to do was help him."

The hurt was evident in her voice and demeanour.

The father in Manabu wanted to give the boy a piece of his mind for causing his precious daughter grief, but he was quick to reign in the ire with a calming breath. It was obvious she's worried about the boy. They'd hung out often since he'd rescue her last summer, and there were books exchanged. Manabu had no idea how close they actually were until they'd come up to him one evening, and Tobirama had asked for his permission to visit her relative's grave in his stead. He'd been surprised to find that Aoi told Tobirama about it, and even more so when the boy had sworn to look after his daughter while they're outside the base. Tobirama possessed promising talents and skills reputable among the Senju clan, but it was the quiet resolution in the young boy's gaze that'd convinced Manabu into allowing him to accompany his daughter.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it in a harsh way," said Manabu. "Some people –" An image of Butsuma appeared in his head as he tried to find suitable descriptive words without sounding callous "— aren't quite sure what to do with their emotions in stressful times. They can't control them as well as they normally do, and sometimes they make mistakes."

"He didn't have to say that."

"You're right. _But_ he could be regretting his words. Who knows?"

"He hasn't shown up and apologised. That's how I know,"Aoi sourly pointed out, the corners of her mouth turned downwards.

Manabu caressed his daughter's head. "I know you have your heart in the right place. What you did wasn't wrong. You have the right to feel upset." He paused, a silent _but_ hanging in the air. "Communication – getting the point across – is important, yes. And so is respecting a person's boundaries."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not trying to defend his action but please understand that Tobirama is going through a difficult period," Manabu gently implored. "If he doesn't need your consolation just now, you need to take a step back. Give him space. He needs it as much as time to heal from the pain of his brothers' deaths."

Aoi had never considered this possibility. Thinking back now, she must've appeared pushy and selfish. She'd allowed her anger towards him consumed her. The realisation brought shame and guilt crashing down on her in waves. She dropped her head morosely. _'What have I done? I'm such an idiot.'_

"It's not your fault, Aoi," Manabu tried to comfort her. "There are walls around him. Don't rush forward and attempt to tear them all down in one go. It wouldn't help." His expression turned bleak. "I had a friend, many years ago. He withdrew from everyone after the death of his elder sister, the only surviving member of his family he had left. He fell into despair over time and eventually died alone –"

Aoi slapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

"— without anyone knowing," Manabu finished. Nobody knew about his death until the stench of his rotting body in the forest alerted someone. He could go on, telling her about friends who went mad with unsatisfiable hunger for vengeance. Friends who couldn't bear the pain any longer. But these were things he wouldn't want his ten-year-old daughter to hear.

Aoi grabbed her father's left sleeve and clutched onto it. "Then what can I do?" she asked, voice filled with desperation. The thought of losing Tobirama forever was more terrifying than their friendship ending. She searched her father's face, etched in age lines and painful memories. "What should I do to help Tobirama?"

"Be there for him," Manabu replied firmly without missing a beat. "Offer him support but don't shove it onto him. Let him know you'll always be there if he wants your help, and be patient. One day he'll come around. Above all things I've said, Aoi, _never_ stop being a friend to him."

* * *

" _Tobirama."_

 _The curt voice of his father instantly put Tobirama's guard up._

 _He turned around and met the grim eyes peering from over the polished low table unflinchingly. His muscles were tense as if poised for the initiating blow of the war horn, and his hands itched to furl into fists. His voice, though, was calm and controlled when answering his father's call. "Yes, chichi-ue?"_

" _Your brother has been disappearing from the village, lately. Do you know anything about it?"_

" _No, I don't."_

 _Tobirama wasn't lying. He knew his father knew he wasn't lying._

" _As I suspected. Each time Hashirama leaves, he comes back later and later. Something about it bugs me." There was a moment's pause. "Tobirama, I want you to follow Hashirama._ _ **Do not**_ _let him or anyone suspect your activity,_ _ **especially**_ _your mother. Understood? This is an absolute order."_

 _:::_

 _Concealed in the foliage, Tobirama peered through the leaves at the two boys sitting side by side at the riverbank, shoving at each other and exchanging playful insults. There was no mistaking the boy beside his brother._ _He'd clashed with his kind multiple times on the battlefield, Tobirama recognised the chakra in the boy even before he'd laid eyes on him._

' _That kid is an Uchiha!'_

 _:::_

 _Back at home two days later, sitting across from Tobirama, the low table between them, Butsuma dropped the news. "I'd asked around. The physical appearance of this Uchiha boy and his fighting style you described fits one in particular."_

" _Who is he?"_

" _Madara. Uchiha Madara. The eldest son of Tajima."_

 _Tobirama stared at his father in stunned silence. Tajima? As in his father's arch-rival, the head of the Uchiha clan?_ _ **That**_ _Uchiha Tajima? Could there be a mistake?_

" _This kid uses the same technique in hand-to-hand-combat as his father._ _ **I**_ _would know," said Butsuma, his eyes hardening into flint. He fixed Tobirama a foreboding look. "Fetch your brother when he returns. The next time he meets Tajima's kid, he isn't going on his own."_

* * *

Leaning against the tree, Tobirama shut his eyes and slipped into a strange, muted darkness. He 'saw' Hashirama in his mind returning from the river. Not far away, Uchiha Madara was walking away in the opposite direction.

The air smelt of summer and last night's rain lingered in the earth below Tobirama's feet. The scent of rain evoked a memory of the downpour they had on the day his father issued him the order to tail Hashirama. The wind had been fierce, the house rattled and trembled almost nonstop in the mercy of the lashing rain. His mother wouldn't have heard their conversation over the clamour, even if she'd pressed her ear against the shoji. Still, their inbuilt shinobi instincts had compelled them into speaking in hushed tones.

Back then Tobirama needed something to distract his mind. Something he could focus his energy on. Not the deaths of his brothers or his ailing mother. So when his father gave him the mission, he'd unreluctantly accepted it despite the nature of said mission.

It'd been almost two weeks since Tobirama started spying on them. Be that over sparing or hurling jibes at each other, the older boys seemed to grow closer with each meeting. Tobirama couldn't pretend he hadn't felt betrayed, angered, and perhaps envious of their budding friendship. It'd taken a sheer amount of self-control to stay hidden, and not leap out to punch senses into Hashirama. Then, drag him home by his ankles if he had to. Hashirama wasn't as adept in sensory skill. He didn't seem to have a single clue the boy he'd been hanging out with in secrecy was from the Uchiha – the very clan the Senju held the longest rivalry with years before the warring era began – and appeared happier being blissfully unaware.

Was it right to take away his brother's happiness? Even if that happiness was coming from the wrong place?

A blue sky greeted Tobirama when he opened his eyes. Delicate wisps of white clouds drifted lazily across its endless expanse. With all the rain they'd been getting, he'd forgotten how a fine summer day should look. To the point, he couldn't pick apart the days from one another, as though time had blurred together like cotton fibres woven into a string of yarn. It felt like he'd been watching an identical apparition of himself going about his life from behind a glass pane. Sometimes he wondered if _he_ was the apparition instead. _An impostor_. Then the thoughts came spiralling down at night while he's lying awake in bed, and he's wrenched back into reality. Staring at the ceiling above him, Hashirama's snores rising from his side of their room. That's when Tobirama became too aware of their absences. Hashirama could snore a whole city awake and the room would still feel quiet without the sound of Kawarama's and Itama's breathings next to him.

A bird took off from a nearby tree.

The sound of its beating wings startled Tobirama from his brooding.

A wave of calm spread through his body in the breaths he took in. He tilted his head back, letting the afternoon sun warmed his face. Gazing at the unblemished blue sky, he found himself suddenly thinking of Aoi. A shinobi was taught not to mix up their emotions during missions; it's drilled into them time and time again. Yet, he'd come very close to at the river yesterday. There was something about her sincerity. About her in general; her voice like a sharp knife had cut through the haze-like illusions that'd been hanging around him for days on end.

He knew beforehand that she'd been looking for him. That she's worried about him. But he had a mission to fulfil. One that could have an irreversible damage if she suspected him and tried following him, a possibility he couldn't rule out. His father would do something about her if he caught wind of it. The frightening part was Tobirama wasn't sure how his father would handle the situation.

One minor slip-up could jeopardise everything.

Tobirama pushed his back off the tree. He emerged from behind it, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders squared and chin set resolutely. He kept justifying his actions as he strode up to his brother in the distance. There's a lot at stake. _If_ Madara found out that Hashirama was a Senju and betrayed him, it would put their parents, Aoi and every Senju at risk. _If_ people in the clan caught wind of his brother's association with an Uchiha, Tobirama could only imagine the uproar that'd erupt. At best, Hashirama would be branded a traitor.

Tobirama wouldn't allow that.

Minutes later, he sat through the tense atmosphere, mentally nodding as their father berated Hashirama for fraternising with an unknown shinobi. An Uchiha to boot. He watched his dumbfounded brother being shoved into a corner with little remorse, only a slight curiosity as what would happen next. For tomorrow, Hashirama must trick Madara into giving Uchiha intel. And _if_ Madara discovered his ploy, the Uchiha couldn't live. Their father had made it crystal clear.

That night, no sound or whispers of movement came from Hashirama's side of the brothers' shared bedroom.

* * *

 _ **Next day**_

After putting away the washed dishes, Aoi went back to her room. Her cat was on her desk, grooming himself as per his habit after each meal. She crossed over to shut the shoji, leaving a small opening in the door so fresh air from the porch could enter. It wasn't much to darken her room but there was nothing she could do about that, thanks to the paper screens.

With a sharp pull on the navy silk tied around the top of the ponytail, Aoi's amber hair came spilling around her shoulders. She tucked the handkerchief inside a drawer, took out her pillow from storage, placed it on the ground and laid down on the cool tatami. She gave a weary sigh as soon as her head touched the soft pillow, her belly warm from the miso soup she had with the onigiri for lunch.

There was a thud when Shirogane jumped off his perch and landed on the tatami. Aoi rolled onto her side as he approached. The cat stopped beside her hand to arch his body in a luxurious stretch, front paws out and furry butt up in the air.

"It's nice to be a cat," said Aoi, teasing his flabby cheeks. "You get to sleep all day, and you don't have to worry about food. Well, not unless you're a stray," she added as an afterthought.

Shirogane's lips peeled back in a wide yawn, displaying the pointed tip of his four canines and a long pink tongue. He curled up on the tatami and closed his eyes. A soothing draft wafted into the room.

The house creaked and the laundry outside flapped in the breeze. Aoi wondered if it'd rain later. She hoped not. There were chores to do later. Determined to get some sleep, she mimicked her cat, closing her eyes.

In this pitch-black world, she wasn't sure how fast or how slow time passed. Sleep was elusive. Her mind began to wander, as it always did at times like this. Despite her father's advice, Aoi still felt unsure. What if she's already too late? What if Tobirama stopped seeing her as a friend? What then? What would she feel? What should she do? The doubts circled inside her head.

With an indignant sigh, she silenced the voices in her head and flipped over to her other side.

...

Aoi woke up to the sound of her cat meowing.

She sat up on the tatami, cradling her head for support in one hand. _'What time is it?'_ she pondered, looking around her bedroom groggily. Her eyelids felt heavy as lead as she struggled to keep them opened.

She winced at the distinct claws-on-wood sawing on her currently delicate senses. A glance over the porch side of the room found her cat in front of the shoji, trying to get out through the tiny gap she'd left opened earlier.

Shirogane meowed in frustration. With one final push of his nose, the door finally gave way and more light came spilling into her room.

Aoi threw an arm over her eyes to shield them against the blinding light. She peeked under her arm through narrowed eyes, just as she saw her cat slipping away with a flick of his tail. She stumbled to her feet, almost faceplanting on the tatami in her hurry to stand when she heard the voice behind the paper screen, and dashed over to the door.

It was bright outside with patches of clouds hovering in the sky. A figure stood in her yard, half-bent over an affection-seeking Shirogane. He had the look of someone who's unsure of what he's doing but he's giving his best shot patting the top of the cat's head.

Aoi rubbed her poor eyes and blinked in astonishment. "Tobirama?"

At the sound of his name, he looked up at her.

Aoi staggered out onto the porch. "What are you doing here?" If this was a dream, it's too realistic. If this was a genjutsu, then someone's doing a mighty good job. Then again, she'd never experienced a bad genjutsu either.

Tobirama pulled his hand back, relief briefly seeping over his features. He straightened up, parted his mouth – then closed it without a sound, the expression on his face indicating he'd forgotten what he wanted to say.

Eventually, he came back to his senses. "Have you been sleeping until now?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Aoi hadn't realised she _might_ look unkempt from her nap until just now. Her cheeks heated up in embarrassment. "O-of course not!" she sputtered, flustering over her dishevelled hair and patting down her kimono. "I was just taking a nap. That's all!"

Tobirama took a step closer to the porch.

"Listen, Aoi." He paused, brows furrowed in concentration, checking to see if it's safe before speaking again in a lower voice, audible enough for her. Shirogane was quiet for once, as if he too could sense the tension in the air. "What I'm about to say, keep it to yourself. If you're thinking of going out later, _don't._ Stay in the village."

Aoi looked at him in bemusement, fingers entwined in her amber hair.

"Why?" she asked, even though she hadn't made any special plans for today. She took in his appearance. Tobirama was wearing the standard attire the Senju shinobi wore, minus the armour and his happuri. People strutted around the village in full army gear, she wouldn't be bothered by what he's wearing right now if not for his tone and countenance. He seemed rather on the edge. "What's happening, Tobirama? Is there going to be a battle?" She could hear the anxiety in her own voice.

"It's only inevitable," he replied, evenly. "We don't know for sure how it'll turn out, but it's not going to be anywhere close."

Tobirama's words failed to reassure Aoi for a different reason. She hadn't heard anything about a battle, especially one close to their home. The Senju were temporarily staying out of the scene as their shinobi recovered their strengths from the previous battle. There hadn't been any signs of another deployment in the base. _So why?_

"I'm sorry. That's all I can say about this matter," Tobirama sincerely apologised, as if he'd read along the line of her thoughts.

Aoi had a growing suspicion he wasn't supposed to be telling her this, much less show up at her house. There's plenty of classified information that her father couldn't divulge to her and her mother. Which meant Tobirama was putting himself and his mission or whatever the confidential matter was at risk if he's found out.

Tobirama was making a move to leave.

"Wait!"

He halted in his steps and peered over his shoulder with a polite, enquiring look.

Aoi wrung her fingers nervously in her kimono. Between their last meeting, which hadn't gone down well as she'd hoped, and his sudden appearance today, she's utterly confused. But the fact he came here against protocols to warn her _and_ trusted her to keep her silence must mean something. _'Tobirama helped me many times before, I want to be the one to lend a hand this time.'_

Emboldened by this new resolve, she stepped forward, the tips of her toes brushing the edge of the porch. Hands clasped in front of her chest, she said, "Please stay safe."

Her plea seemed to surprise him. Tobirama was quick to recover. He turned around, the scowl on his face gone. In fact, he looked more relaxed, compared to when he'd first gotten here.

"When I have time, do you want to help me in training?" he asked.

"What?" Aoi blurted. "Help you train? How?" Of all the things he'd say, she didn't expect that.

His eyes twinkled in amusement. Maybe. It'd happened so fast, it could've been a trick of the light.

"I'll tell you the details in due time." It sounded like a promise. A promise that he'd come home. "Also. Thank you." With those parting words, he was gone in a flicker of movement.

Aoi stared at the spot where Tobirama stood not a moment ago. Something soft and hairy brushed her ankles, and she glanced down to find Shirogane at her feet. He meowed at her. She exhaled the breath of air she didn't know she'd been holding this whole time, feeling a pile of weight in her stomach leaving her body.

A portion lingered behind.

She knew it'd never truly disappear. Not until this war ended.

* * *

A pair of hands came around his head to cover his eyes, temporarily engulfing him in darkness.

"Guess who?" a mirth-filled voice chirped close to his ears.

Tobirama almost dropped his fishing rod into the river. He twisted around his waist from where he sat, causing the person behind him to pull back their hands. He knew who it was by the voice but seeing his mother in the flesh, smiling down at him as if there's nothing wrong happening in the world, he couldn't help himself from gawking.

"What are you doing here, haha-ue?"

Kiyohana smiled at him sweetly. "Today's weather is nice. I thought it'll be a great opportunity to stretch my legs. Wouldn't you agree?" As Tobirama struggled to come up with a witty retort, she peered over his shoulder at the wooden bucket at his side. She let out a gasp. "Oh my, these _ayu_ fishes are huge!"

"Well, it _is_ nearing the end of _ayu_ season," Tobirama automatically replied before remembering the more pressing matter in front of him. "No, I meant – why are you out? You're not supposed to leave the house! Where's anija?" He clambered to his feet, fishing rod in a tight grasp. He scanned the trees behind her. Hashirama might be an idiot sometimes but he would never dare show up with that murderous look on his brother's face.

"I sent him on an errand. Hashirama won't be back in, say, an hour or so."

"Haha-ue!"

"Oh, hush now," Kiyohana chided, planting her hands on her son's shoulders in a placating gesture. "Since I'm already here, let your poor mother enjoy some much-needed fresh air, okay?"

He hesitated before begrudgingly complied. "Fine. You can stay. But I'm taking you back."

Kiyohana broke into a smile of gratitude, knowing her son meant well. "Do you mind if I watch you?"

Tobirama shook his head.

After setting aside his fishing rod, he followed his mother to the weeping willow. The leaves were starting to turn. Already a handful of trees around them were adorning yellow to pale orange foliage. With time, the whole valley would fully transform into a spectacular canvas of rich autumn colours.

Tobirama assisted his mother onto the ground, one hand gripping her elbow and the other supporting her back. Her elbow joint was sharp and poked back at him. He could make out the shape of her spine through the haori she wore over her kimono as she shifted about. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, the dull pain helping him to focus on the task at hand.

As soon as his mother sat down, Tobirama grabbed his bamboo bottle which she accepted gratefully. After taking a few delicate sips of the cool water, she lowered the bottle onto her lap and leaned back against the tree, a sigh escaping through her pale lips. Relief and fatigue mixed in the faint sound. She placed a hand over her chest where her heart was and shut her eyes.

Tobirama observed her like a hawk. An image flashed in his mind – his mother sprawled on the ground of the entryway, barely conscious and fighting for air. He shook off the distressing memory and mentally checked his composure was still intact. At least on the exterior, he was.

Several meditative breaths later, his mother's breathing eventually calmed down. Some colours had returned to her pallid cheeks, giving her a healthier glow. But the reality was harsher. Bleaker.

The first thing Tobirama noticed was the silver hair. It's dull and thin, cropped short to her nape as a result of hair loss over the recent months. A lack of appetite combined with the inability to put on weight showed on her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, giving her face an unusually sharp profile, and she looked doubled his father's age despite being six years younger. Tobirama lowered his gaze to the bony fingers peeking from under her sleeves. Her clothes were too big on her. His mother was dangerously frail, he's scared – _yes, scared –_ a light breeze could blow her off the ground.

' _She shouldn't have done this. It's tiring for her body,'_ he frowned, watching his haggard-looking mother dabbed at her sweaty brows with her handkerchief.

Kiyohana handed the bottle back after taking another mouthful of water. "Thank you. I needed that." She patted the ground beside her. "Come, sit with me for a little while. You should take a break too."

Tobirama sat down at the indicated spot. He crossed his legs and put his bottle in the space between them.

Kiyohana stretched out her arms above her head. "Mmm, this feels refreshing! Every once in a while, I should take a stroll like this."

" _He_ won't agree," Tobirama pointed out in a flat tone.

"Oh, don't be a wet blanket like your father!" she pouted, hands on hips. "Talk to Genta and he'll tell you the same thing. Besides, I've been feeling more energetic lately."

Which her son couldn't deny it wasn't true.

Kiyohana had recovered enough strength to move about in the house and was spending less time asleep. Recently, she'd taken up knitting winter scarves for the four of them, and even taught her sons how to sew after discovering they'd neglected the wears and tears in their clothes. Of course, chores were off-limits. Since Butsuma was up to his neck dealing with the clan, military and political affairs, the brothers would tackle the chores between themselves. Or one of them would if the other was away – though not for too long.

Not after the scare back in summer, her family would never think of leaving her alone in the house again.

Kiyohana, in her own words, had woken up to an empty house and felt a sense of premonition she couldn't explain. This'd happened on the very day Butsuma and Tobirama clashed with Tajima and Madara's younger brother, Izuna, after their coincidentally-identical plans failed. When she couldn't sense her family inside the village, but found their chakras miles away and in close proximity to the three Uchiha's instead – one of whom she'd instantly recognised as the Uchiha clan head from previous encounters – she'd panicked and tried to leave.

Before reaching the front door though, she'd collapsed from exertion.

That was how her family had found her upon returning home. It was the first time Tobirama witnessed his father lose his composure. Both times when his mother had fainted at the news of Kawarama's and Itama's death, Tobirama wasn't at home, and he wondered if his father had acted the same way.

The sound of his mother's voice dragged him back to the present. "That reminds me. I need to thank him and Tsubo-san properly soon," she mused aloud, an index finger on her chin. "Oh, and we mustn't forget Aoi-chan. She's been giving us all those vegetables and yummy fruits."

For the past few months, they'd been receiving a basket of seasonal produce twice a week from Aoi. As visitors were still prohibited, her mother would deliver them in her stead when she dropped by their home for Kiyohana's health check-up. Aoi's baskets usually contained a variety of wild vegetables and mushrooms. If not, fresh fruits from the farmers and anything growing in her mother's vegetable patch, since summer was the season of typhoons and Aoi wouldn't go into the mountain to forage if the sky looked suspiciously unsettling. Tobirama would accompany her whenever possible with a basket of his own on his back. He'd only watched her before, so it'd been a unique learning experience for him, and the food would last his family longer through the week when the two of them foraged together.

Kiyohana placed a hand on top of his head in an affectionate gesture. "I'm glad the two of you are getting along well. Aoi really needs a friend like you who can guide her. But I must confess I was worried at first."

"Why?"

"You're too straightforward," she bluntly told him, "which may come off as rude. You really need to learn more tact, Tobirama. It's important in politics."

Tobirama scowled, a subtle blush dusting his cheeks. He crossed his arms. "I _know_ that, haha-ue. Besides, politics is an entirely different matter." At the reproachful look his mother's giving him, he dropped his shoulders in defeat. "Alright. Alright. I'll be more careful."

Kiyohana nodded in approval. A smile returned to her lips. "You still have lots to learn but I'm confident in your abilities," she said, eyes glowing with pride. "I know you'll work hard every day and grow stronger. You'll be looked up to for guidance from our clansmen and the people around you."

Tobirama dropped his gaze to the ground. He's grateful for something to hold onto, even though it's taking every ounce of willpower to hold back on shattering the bamboo bottle in his hand into splinters. His mother continued speaking in a dreamy voice, bright with optimism as she ran her fingers absentmindedly through his locks. He didn't like where this conversation was going, but he hadn't the heart to stop her.

"— and when the day comes for your brother to become the clan head, you'll support him every step of the way." The glint in Kiyohana's eyes glowed brighter at the thought of her two surviving sons. It was easy to see how much love she felt towards them. "I'm sure you and Hashirama will grow up to be a couple of fine men and prove to your father that you're more than capable. And I know both of you will bring about great changes into this world – maybe not in a year or two, but certainly it will happen. I know. I just know it. Perhaps it's my motherly instincts?" She shook her head at her own silliness.

Her son had gone very still and quiet.

Kiyohana gazed at her other hand, bony fingers spread on top of her thigh. It didn't hurt when she looked at them or the reflection of herself on the river's surface. She'd long accepted her fate.

There was just one last thing she needed to say.

"Please don't hold it against your father," said Kiyohana, her voice soft and tender. "He must fulfil his duty as clan head, and it hasn't been easy. You and your brother will come to understand when you're both older. But I'll leave it up to the two of you to make that decision on your own. And when you do, Tobirama, know that I'll accept your choice. I'll always be proud of you. I love you."

A drop.

Then two more soon followed.

Catching the light of the afternoon sun, they sparkled like tiny stars swimming in the clear liquid as they fell through the air. When it hit the ground below Tobirama, the fleeting illusion died.

Scooting closer, Kiyohana nudged her son towards her. She felt his whole body stiffened up for a moment before he relaxed completely and allowed her to ease him into her bosom. She lightly touched her head against his and nuzzled her cheek against his hair.

Tobirama turned his face away, embarrassed. When was the last time he felt like this? Vulnerable. Powerless. When was the last time he allowed himself to be held like a… a child? At the same time, however, he felt safe in his mother's arms, wrapped in her sweet scent.

Kiyohana resumed running her fingers soothingly through his hair. He shifted a little to lean closer to her touch. She smiled, a trace of sadness on her curled lips. They stayed like this for a while, savouring the warmth of the other in the autumn sunshine.

 _She wasn't sure what he's thinking at this moment._

"I promise, I'll do everything I can. I won't let you down."

 _But it didn't matter. Because she believed in him._

Kiyohana murmured a few words and lifted her red eyes to the October sky.

Thoughts of Kawarama and Itama surfaced in her mind. They're always alive in there. And though, it's weak, her heart carried them. She sent her sons a silent prayer of reassurance, urging Itama not to cry and Kawarama to cheer his brother up. That everything would be fine.

The sun winked back at her through the weeping willow's foliage.

She broke into a smile, a look of peace gracing her tired features.

* * *

 _ **I hope you've all enjoyed reading part 2 of chapter 10. This monster of a chapter concludes the second arc of this story. I hope I'd captured Tobirama's part well when he had to spy on his brother. What motivated Tobirama to do that, aside from probably being obedient to their father. I did say in a previous chapter that I wanted to explore Butsuma's character. But due to time and word constraints, I could only sprinkle a little here and there for now. I hope to expand his character in future chapters. It is part of my plan.  
**_

 _ **If you have any questions, feedback or comments, please drop a PM or a review.  
**_

 _ **A big thank you to my reviewers. Thank you for the faves and follows. Thank you for reading to this far.**_ _ **Please look forward to chapter 11!**_


	12. Chapter 11

**5 years later**

 **.**

 **.**

The man had appeared suddenly in front of Tobirama as though spat by the crowd. His feet danced unsteadily beneath him, scraping the ground. The bulging sack on his right shoulder clattered, the sound reminiscent of kettles and pans banging together, as its mystery contents were jostled about inside their canvas walls. Tobirama's hands shot out when he began to pitch forward and grabbed his shoulders, stopping his fall before a painful collision could occur.

The man flinched away in astonishment. The momentum threw him off, and he staggered back several steps into a well-illuminated part of the street. He had a head of unkempt hair that fell across his eyes in thick greasy strands. He looked like he'd not bathed for weeks, and there's also a strong stench of alcohol and tobacco oozing from his person.

With a huge effort, the strange man pried himself off the wall he'd fallen against. He mumbled something unintelligible, his tone surly, and he kept his head down as he hefted his cargo higher up its perch, the heavy weight causing him to slouch forward. He took a step to the side. It's obvious from the beginning he had no intention of apologising to Tobirama for almost ramming into him, but the young shinobi let him go.

The man glanced up at his motionless figure as he tottered past, perhaps out of curiosity rather than suspicion. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth partially opened in shock. A pair of beady eyes peered from behind the curtain of grubby locks. He broke off from the trance with a small jump, tearing his eyes from the etching on Tobirama's happuri, and took in his appearance from head to toe.

Tobirama calmly returned his stare. A simpleton would recognise a shinobi in their battle gears without knowledge of clan crests. And this man, drunk as he was, could – judging by the way his face paled.

The sack slipped from the man's grasp and hit the floor with a _clang_. He dropped to his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. Words tumbled from his mouth in nervous sputters. "Pardon m-me, sir! Didn't see you there – honest! F-forgive me. _Please_ forgive me!" he beseeched and scrambled to his feet. He swept up his sack into his arms and took off without waiting for a response.

Tobirama stared after the man in bemusement, even after he'd vanished amid the shifting crowd.

 _Sir?_

Sure, he's turning eighteen next February, but he couldn't look _that_ old?

Tobirama shrugged it off as unimportant and turned around, burying his hands back under his travelling cloak. He paused to glance around.

The odd bystanders who'd stopped to watch the commotion leapt back to what they're previously doing with an air of forced obliviousness.

He paid them no heed.

Strolling down the village's market street, he took in the lively atmosphere around him. Stalls lined the sides of the street, their fronts decorated with bright and colourful banners advertising their trades and wares. The air was choked in eye-stinging smoke rising from the grills and stoves, and Tobirama felt instantly relieved when he'd left the food stalls behind. He wasn't hungry anyway. Games were predictably the most popular attraction after food among the festivalgoers, especially families with young children. They clustered around the booths, their excited faces illuminated by the paper lanterns hanging above their heads. The whole place was buzzing with indescribable energy, filled with chatters and laughter. It's almost as if he's walking through an entirely different universe parallel to his. Except his was torn apart by wars.

Tobirama didn't stop to investigate the stalls. He preferred to observe from afar, and it's difficult to manoeuvre through the section of the street here. Children were running about unattended, chasing each other, or dragging their parents and siblings along. It was utter chaos. He had to keep an eye out for the shorter ones lest he'd accidentally knock one over. He didn't need the stress of dealing with a sobbing kid.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, his gaze landed on the tiny figure of a girl standing outside a busy goldfish-scooping stall. She couldn't look older than five or six years old, and seemed to be…

' _Waving at me?'_ Tobirama raised an eyebrow. He walked on indifferently. _'A stranger in the crowd? That's not possible. This place is heaving, and the girl is on the other side of the street.'_

What were the chances?

He glanced behind and, to his horror, the girl had moved away. Towards him, and the panic set in.

The girl hadn't gone far when a man grabbed her from behind and pulled her back to the stall. The way he'd reacted and looked, terrified and exasperated, there's no doubt the adult was the child's guardian.

Tobirama had briefly seen him standing in front of the girl in the queue. He watched her guardian lowered himself to her height and forced her to look at him. What was being said over the clamour was unclear. From the severe expression on his face and her slumped shoulders, the girl was likely being scolded.

The man stood up, threw a frosty glance in Tobirama's direction and strode away from the goldfish-scooping stall with the downhearted girl, holding onto her hand in a protective manner.

A breeze brought in a sharp scent of salt from the sea.

Shivering, Tobirama tugged the collar of his cloak tighter around his neck. He hunched his shoulders in an attempt to combat the cold, and resumed his journey down the market street, brows pinched together in deep thoughts. He'd been ignoring their stares and whispers all this while. The locals were curious of him, in awe of his presence. There were the odd nods and tentative smiles, a nervous glance at the katana at his hip. Apart from that, they left him alone, which suited him very fine. Their lack of congeniality didn't bother him. The village chief more than made up for it with his exuberance and eagerness to appease their 'honoured' guests.

As a general rule, the Senju army avoided civilian settlements at all costs unless they found themselves in a life-threatening emergency like extreme weather conditions, or if essential supplies such as food and medicines started to run critically low. The mercenary clan was careful not to affiliate themselves with any civilians. It could endanger innocent lives as well as their own's if enemies made false assumptions, and there's also the matter of spies and collaborators.

But this village was different.

Because of its strategic location on the coast of the Land of Hot Waters, the village and its people had endured years of tyranny under pirates' rules. Back then the locals struggled to make ends meet, relying heavily on fishing which mostly ended up on the plates of their oppressors. It wasn't until six years ago that the daimyo enlisted help, and the village was liberated by an army led by Senju Butsuma himself.

Tobirama had not been part of the action but remembered his father telling him about the mission and Jiro, the village chief.

The former fisherman had sought out the clan head after the pirates' defeat as the army was about to leave. He'd tried to offer them every valuable the impoverished village possessed and the meagre treasures the pirates left behind in exchange for protection. To which Tobirama's father had declined, citing the clan's protocol; it wasn't uncommon to receive similar propositions from civilians. But Jiro had been persistent about being indebted to the clan. In the end, Tobirama's father had asked the village to provide a place to rest for the Senju if they ever crossed path in the future as a gesture of goodwill.

Fast forward to the present, Tobirama couldn't fathom he'd be in this village his father saved. For one night, he and his brethren were staying at a classy inn and given the best rooms – for free. The stop wasn't premeditated. They'd been passing around the outskirts of the village when a couple of locals spotted the large group of Senju warriors, taken to meet Jiro, and the rest was history.

Tobirama studied the busy marketplace. A lot of structures destroyed in the battle six years ago were rebuilt from the ground up. Through the combined efforts of the villagers, and with a little monetary support from the Hot Waters daimyo on the side, the village was able to prosper and become a place of commerce today, attracting traders and travellers from afar…

But one couldn't simply remove a decade of terror and anger.

Tobirama could sense the wariness in the air, following him around as he walked in the villagers' midst. Civilians didn't normally go around trusting his kind, even if those people were from the very clan who saved them.

He was a shinobi.

A person capable of harm.

It wasn't as if he hadn't foreseen the circumstances his presence would emit, like the drunk man who looked at him in fear and the father's loathing. Some were just better at hiding their emotions than others. _So why did it leave a bitter taste at the back of his mouth?_

The merchants didn't seem to mind him. Though Tobirama suspected it might have something to do with the clan's social status and affluence. An owner of a leather business told him that he'd met plenty of 'his sorts'during his lifetime of travelling, enough that he's certain an honourable clan like the Senju would never provoke aggressions for the heck of it, and seemed openly critical about the way the villagers treated him as if he's carrying a terrible disease.

Tobirama ignored his remarks as he browsed. He chose a roll case to store his weapon sharpening tools. His current one had been slowly disintegrating over the past years. He brushed a thumb across the case's front. It was high-quality leather.

After making the payment, he thanked the merchant and turned back to the street. There were fewer people milling about the further he moved away from the festival's main attractions, and with more breathing space he found himself slowly relaxing amongst the late-night shoppers and enjoying the stroll through the marketplace for the first time this evening. Along the way, he paused at a few stalls where he's greeted by a flurry of flatteries and discounted prices – but nothing caught his interest for long.

Tobirama folded his arms beneath his cloak, fighting back another shiver. His exposed skin tingled in the cold air. Perhaps he should have stayed behind, hunkered down in front of a warm fire while nursing a cup of sake between his hands.

He dispersed the thought with a shake of his head.

Sake was a bad idea, and he didn't want to go back to the inn just yet. Jiro was holding a dinner party there for the Senju warriors. Tobirama had quietly slipped away after one cup of sake; it's the most he allowed himself.

Tobirama couldn't sense being followed – he'd made sure nobody saw him sneaking out through the backdoor of their host's residence – which meant he had the rest of the night for himself. The marketplace was closing later than usual for the festival the village was holding in the run-up to the winter solstice. That's next week.

If they leave tomorrow slightly after dawn, he calculated, they could arrive at the valley two days before the solstice. Everyone's looking forward to celebrating with their friends and families back home.

Tobirama hastened his pace.

He's running out of time.

He cast about searchingly, biting the inside of his cheek with mounting frustration. _'There must be something in this village I can…'_ his thoughts trailed off, catching a flash of light out of the corner of his eyes.

Feeling inquisitive, Tobirama traced the source to a small stall sandwiched between a fabric store and a ceramic dealer. A couple of women were browsing, and he waited until they'd become bored and moved away before walking up to the dazzling display. The lanterns were deliberately positioned about the stall so that the polished surface of mirrors and precious stones glimmered brilliantly in the warm light. There's an assortment of combs, kanzashi, folding paper fans and hand mirrors as well.

Tobirama picked up a kanzashi that was lying at the far edge of the table, away from the ornate ones displayed at the front like a centrepiece. He immediately liked it at first glance.

"Excuse me, how much is this?" he asked the old lady behind the gleaming table, even as he's reaching under his cloak for his money.

There was a creak as the elderly merchant leaned forward in her chair to get a better look at the kanzashi in his hand. "200 _ryo_ , please," she rasped after a moment's pause. She studied his face while he's preoccupied with counting the money. "Forgive me for prying, boy. Are you buying for your lover?"

Tobirama looked up in surprise. "No, she's not my lover. I'm not in any form of relationship," he added without preamble.

"I see. Well then, that rules out a wife… Ah, from your silence, I take it I'm right in my assumption. Is she your sister?"

"Uh, no."

"Your mother? Grandmother? An aunt? Cousin?"

"Neither of those," asserted Tobirama, struggling to keep the exasperation from leaking into his voice. He just wanted to pay for the kanzashi and leave. He took a calming breath, reminding himself to uphold a polite bearing, and said, "She's a _friend_ of mine. It's her birthday gift. She turned sixteen two months ago but I wasn't around then." Because of his duty.

"A friend, you say?" The old lady hummed, her milk-grey eyes regarding a bewildered-looking Tobirama pensively. "Young man, I must warn you against giving her such a personal item. You'll be better off finding something else for her."

"It's just a hairpin."

The elderly merchant sat back in her squeaky chair and straightened the thick blanket on her lap with an air of a patient grandmother teaching her stubborn grandchild. "My boy, think carefully. These are women's accessories. We, ladies, use them in our daily lives to maintain and complement our appearances. The action of a man – especially an unmarried one such as yourself – presenting one to a lady carries a profound message. As if he desires her to be beautiful. I understand where your good intentions are coming from, but it'll be awful for your dear friend if gossips arise, no? You don't want to cause any misunderstandings."

" _Never_ , _"_ Tobirama responded with firm conviction. For some reason, he felt like she'd add something along the line of _'not unless you're thinking of courting her'_ if she wasn't being prudent. "I apologise for my behaviour. Thank you for the advice."

He put away his money but hesitated at the kanzashi, gazing at it forlornly. The glass ball's shade of blue was what drew him to the kanzashi the first time. White flowers adorned the surface, each painted by a pair of skilful hands. The design was simple enough, something the wearer could put on every day, and it suited her taste. He reluctantly placed the kanzashi back on the table.

The old lady's gaze softened, a smile forming on her wizened face. "What does she like, this friend of yours? I might be able to direct you to one of my friends in the market who'll give you a good price."

"Really?" blurted Tobirama. "That'll be a great help. Thank you." He tried not to look _too_ elated. He cleared his throat and stiffened. It was a voice his keen ears picked up over the market's din, calling out.

"What's the matter, boy? Are you alright?"

The old merchant was speaking, but she and the noises around him sounded as if they're coming from somewhere far away.

The voice called out again. Closer this time, and in an obnoxious sing-song manner.

Tobirama recognised his name.

He wheeled around and felt the wind knocked out of him from the force of a person bowling into him at a stampeding bull's speed. It nearly threw him off his feet, but an arm winding its way around the back of his shoulders kept him steady. Then it yanked him forward, and he found himself face to face with his loud brother.

Hashirama's tanned skin was flushed, his dark eyes half-lidded and glazed over from the effects of alcohol. "There you are, Tobirama!" he exclaimed, leaning heavily against his brother. "I've been looking all over the place for you!"

The strong pungent smell of sake in his brother's breath hit Tobirama like a tonne of bricks. He pinched his nose, stifling the urge to gag, and glowered at his brother. A drunk Hashirama was ten times louder and more annoying, and even now he's taking a long swig from the sake flask in his hand.

Tobirama would deal with him harshly if they weren't in a public space. Already, the two Senju were attracting looks and whispers from the locals, and he's conscious of the elderly merchant behind them was watching. For a moment of horror, he wondered how much Hashirama overheard their discussion, but seeing how inebriated his brother was, he relaxed.

"Get back to the inn, anija," Tobirama spoke in a low voice, shoving Hashirama in the rib. "You're making a fool out of yourself."

"But I don't wanna," whined the future head of the Senju clan.

"For once in your life," Tobirama snarled, "act like an adult. You're nineteen!"

"No."

Irritated at his brother's immature behaviour, Tobirama resorted to shaking him off his back. Hashirama hung on, latching onto his neck tighter. Stars began popping up in Tobirama's vision. He wrestled against the chokehold, desperately yanking at his brother's arms. His patience had already shattered. "Get off! Get off me – _NOW!_ "

"How could you?" Hashirama howled, real tears spilling down his cheeks. "I'm your brother! I would die for you!"

Tobirama snapped back, "Shut up!"

" _Oooi, Hashirama!"_

" _Don't go running ahead of us, damn it!"_

" _Is that Tobirama with him?"_

The two brothers stopped in mid-quarrel and turned around in unison. Hashirama lost his grips on Tobirama during the abrupt movement and fell onto the ground with a loud crash.

Tobirama stared at the approaching entourage with incredulity. Three of their friends – Makoto, Tousuke and Akira – were sauntering up to them, flanked by a flock of local girls. Together with Tobirama and Hashirama, the five of them were roughly around the same ages, and they'd been training together since very young.

The group came to a halt before the brothers.

Tobirama ignored the way the girls were eyeing him like a wonderful specimen.

"What? Have you been here all this while, Tobirama?" Akira remarked with a chuckle. "Are you on your own?"

"I _was_ ," Tobirama bit out, his snarky comment falling on deaf fears.

"We lost sight of Hashirama some time ago," said Makoto, rubbing the back of his head, "when we were watching a street performance and thought he might have gone back for more drinks. We were about to look over there. But then we heard a commotion and saw he's here –"

"— or rather, down there," Tousuke interrupted, pointing at the haphazard shape by Tobirama's feet, and all three of them burst into hysterics.

The girls joined in, giggling behind their hands, their shoulders trembling with mirth. It was then Tobirama noticed the quiet kunoichi lingering a few paces behind the group.

Touka's expression was a perfect blend of _how-did-I-get-myself-into-this-mess_ and weariness stemming from annoyance acting as the boys' chaperone. If it weren't for her brother, Tousuke, she wouldn't be needed here. She rolled her eyes, heaving a sigh at the same time, and mouthed _'bunch of idiots'_ to Tobirama.

Tobirama probed around for their kindreds' chakras and found them scattered about. The party seemed to have spilled out into the market. Some were still at the inn. He could only pray that the evening ended peacefully.

"We're going to head back to the festival," said Akira, after everyone had calmed down. "Want to join us? There's a firework display at midnight."

"No thanks. I'll pass."

"But you must!" Makoto insisted. "Or you'll miss out on all the fun."

"And the pretty ladies!" Touka's brother chimed in again and drew two girls into his arms, causing them to blush and giggle. Touka rolled her eyes again.

Tobirama furrowed his brows into a scowl. "Do I need to remind you the proper way to conduct yourselves?" he said in a disapproving tone, looking in turn at each of his friends' faces, red from the alcohol. "You're warriors from the Senju clan. Have some self-respect."

"Oh, come on! It's only for one night. 'Gotta loosen up after all that fighting, you know?"

Murmurs of assents rose from the group.

"Are we not your type, Senju-san?" a plucky one amongst the local girls piped up.

"That is not –"

"Tobirama's type?" Hashirama rose to his feet with such fluidity, one could be fooled to think he hadn't been drinking at all. He perched his elbow casually on his brother's shoulder, ignoring the warning look he's receiving. "That's easy, miss. That girl is kind, diligent and witty," he ticked them off on his hand like a list, "has a very fair complexion, hair the colour –"

Tobirama grabbed the offending hand hanging from his shoulder, and dug his fingers into the targeted pressure points. He coolly addressed his friends while keeping a strong and steady grip on his flailing brother, "Don't do anything foolish that you'll come to regret later. Understand? Or I'll skin all of you alive."

He released Hashirama's hand without remorse and stalked away.

"Oh my, that was scary!" a girl gasped, as the group watched people jumping away from Tobirama's path. "What a frightening man – Ah! No offense to you, Hashirama-sama. He's your younger brother, isn't he?"

"That's alright," Hashirama grinned through the pain, massaging his poor hand. "Tobirama's not all that bad once you get to know him better." The urge to defend his little brother was instinctual. His pride, perhaps not as much. The alcohol was muddling Hashirama's ability to think rationally. "Say now, do you girls want to hear a funny story about Tobirama when he was a baby?"

The group erupted with a resounding _"Yes!"._

Hashirama in the lead, launching his tale with a _rakugoka's_ flair, the jolly group started heading back to the festival.

Trailing behind them, Touka shook her head. "Boys."

…

Sat on a rock, Tobirama wrapped his cloak around his body to fend off the bitter wind blowing from the north. It was colder here, out in the open by the sea. His neck was particularly vulnerable, but there's no way he'd return to the village in his current bad mood.

His eyes wandered about the sandy beach. He's the only soul around as far as he could see. To his far left, the looming silhouettes of merchant ships moored at the harbour were rocking gently in the wind. He'd planned on investigating them after checking out the market. A little sight-seeing.

' _So much for planning,'_ Tobirama sighed glumly and leaned back on his hands to gaze upwards.

The distant sounds from the festival hummed in the chilly air. Tobirama focused on the sound of waves as they rolled ashore, colliding into rocks, and retreated back out towards the wide expanse of water. The grass around him rustled. A few wisps of clouds hung in the night sky. The moon was full tonight, casting an ethereal silver light onto the sea and beach, the white sands seemed to sparkle like the stars above.

On an empty beach, this place was like heaven and Tobirama was gradually lulled into a tranquil state. He pulled out an envelope from under his cloak. His name was scrawled neatly down the front in black ink.

Letters were great morale boosters and thus encouraged between the frontline and home. The only frustrating downside was the unpredictable waiting time. It couldn't be helped. Couriers were risking their lives, often walking into a warzone, if not tracking their movements across the lands to deliver their letters. It's understandably not an easy job. Summons were saved for information sensitive letters and packages, while ordinary birds were rarely utilised as they could be intercepted.

Tobirama slipped the contents of the envelope and carefully unfolded each of the three papers on his lap. Despite his best efforts, they'd crumpled under his armour on his travels, but the letter was still legible with some persistence. The last wrinkles flattened out, he gripped the edges of the papers tightly for fear of the wind.

The letter dated back to October, written on her birthday to be exact. He kept her old letters collected over the past months, sealed away in an unmarked scroll only he knew of and had sole access. There's no way he'd risk his brother finding it, or anyone else for that matter. The teases and knowing looks from his friends were bad enough. Add to his misery, the messengers had to be insufferable with their smirks when they came to hand his letters. _Every. Single. Time._

' _Can't a guy and a girl exchange letters without all that… that – that piffle involved?'_ seethed Tobirama, thinking back to the kanzashi at the market. Why complicate things? Or was it because – as the elderly merchant had said – he's unmarried?

He forced himself to focus on the letter in his hands. The words were imprinted in his memory deeply, he could predict what the next passage would say before his eyes were able to catch up. But he took his time, feeling more at ease reading at this casual pace. Her penmanship was far better than his. It hadn't always been this way, of course. When she'd first started out writing to him – the first one received years ago came as a pleasant shock – the letters were short, barely covering half a page, awkwardly structured, and straight to the point. Simple and repetitive, but heartfelt words all the same: _How are you doing_? _I hope you're alright_ , and _Please look after yourself._

Nowadays she'd grown creative with words, adding a touch of her humour and sarcasm. Her letters could spread over four papers, sometimes longer, but they wouldn't bother Tobirama. On quiet nights whilst the camp's immersed in a deep slumber, he liked revisiting them to take his mind off the things of war. Those nights were often accompanied by a bittersweet sense of homesickness.

 _The autumn leaves are changing early this year. I can't wait to see the colours at their peak. The way the valley looks in autumn each year, its beauty is almost surreal. As if it has jumped straight out of a master's painting – and the bamboo grove makes an outstanding contrast. Isn't it extraordinary that bamboos remain green? I know there are species of trees out there that don't shed their leaves either, but there's something mysterious about the bamboos. I can't explain it… but I feel like they're telling us, humans, to persevere. What are your thoughts?_

Tobirama folded up the letter, slipped it back under his armour and stood up from the rock.

The sand under his feet dipped as he made his way down to the shoreline, careful not to put too much weight. He paused where the ground was more solid. The breeze danced in his hair, and his cloak billowed around him. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring pensively into the horizon where the sea and sky met.

'… _I feel like they're telling us, humans, to persevere.'_

He wouldn't rest until he found a suitable gift, Tobirama resolved to himself. After this unplanned stop, the plan was to resume the journey back to the Land of Fire with fewer breaks and evade civilian areas completely. There's no telling what he'd stumble upon in the wilderness, and that's not a risk he's willing to take. There must be something in the market he'd overlooked.

As he racked his brain, his wandering gaze fell on a tiny shell at his feet. He picked it up between his thumb and index finger. The shell was empty. Looking around, there were more scattered about the beach. An idea formed inside his head.

A shrill whistle shattered the stillness of the night an uncertain amount of time later, and a burst of green sparks exploded over the seaside village to an echo of cheers.

The fireworks had started.

It's midnight, and Tobirama must return to his clansmen. The curfew was relaxed tonight but only for so long. He bounced the drawstring pouch experimentally in his hand, his lips curving at the satisfying weight. He nodded to himself and started to head back to the village, feeling optimistic in a while.

* * *

Tobirama woke up hours later, his legs tangled in the duvet and a splitting headache. Every fibre of his being screamed in protest, just sitting up took a strenuous effort. He cradled his forehead in agony, eyes scrunched shut. The ache throbbed at the tiniest sounds as if someone was stabbing his skull relentlessly with a pike. There were movements around him and a jumble of voices he'd hear through the cloud of pain and confusion.

The clatter of a door being pushed open jarred his delicate head, causing him to wince. "Breakfast is ready, guys," a male's voice called. "Get ready quick. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

Sounds of approval went around the room – at least that's what it must be. Feet shuffled across the tatami, a door closed, then all was quiet, except for the muffled voices coming from behind the walls.

Tobirama groggily lifted his head and took in the guestroom he shared with eight others, their futons had been crammed into every inch of space available. The faintest light of dawn poured through an opened window, through which a delectable smell was drifting into the room from the kitchen downstairs. His stomach gave an audible growl.

He peeled the duvet off him and stumbled to his feet, barely registering the fact he'd went to sleep in his day clothes. The space on his right was bare. Hashirama's pack and armours were stacked against the wall beside his own.

' _Downstairs,'_ he guessed, plodding over to the door.

Tobirama was starving. But first things first, he needed to freshen up. He delicately picked his way along an empty corridor with lumbering steps, bracing against the wall for support. He couldn't figure out why he's feeling awful, or why he had no memories of returning to the inn.

The men's bath was two doors down, and he dragged himself over to the wooden tubs. He filled one with water from a barrel and washed his face. He gritted his teeth together. A few splashes of the freezing cold water later, he felt more awake. He patted his face dry with a fresh towel the inn provided.

There's no time for a bath. Besides, he already had a long luxurious one yesterday after checking-in at the inn. He could tolerate living without a bath for the next four days.

He grabbed a mirror from the shelf and stared.

An equally nonplussed boy in his late teen with red eyes and dishevelled silver hair gazed back.

Tobirama brushed a finger along his – _their –_ left cheek, watching intently, as it passed over the streak running from their jawline to a point below their eyes; his chin and other cheek were also marked. He lowered his finger from his face and didn't find a smudge of red.

He propped up the mirror beside his wooden tub. He washed his face thoroughly, dried his face on the towel, and checked his reflection. _Still there._ He washed again, dried and glanced at the mirror. _Still there._

He repeated the process for the fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh time, rubbing the towel over his entire face until his skin was chafed raw.

 _Still there._

' _No, no, no. No! This can't be. What – how could this have happened?'_ Tobirama stared into the mirror, dumbfounded, as water dripped down his chin to soak the front of his kosode. The red markings remained flawlessly intact despite the abuse he'd inflicted on his face.

What happened after he'd left the beach? All he'd remember was bumping into Hashirama and his friends at the festival. There'd been a building behind them. A bar, was it? What happened next? His memory was fuzzy, and thinking was giving him another blasted headache.

"Oh boy, something smells good!" the chirpy voice of Touka's brother came from outside the men's bath. "I'm starving like crazy. I hope there's plenty of meat and – woah!"

Tobirama shut the bathroom behind him and rounded on Tousuke, grabbing a fistful of his kosode. He yanked his friend forward until their noses were almost touching. _"_ What happened last night at the bar? You were there too. Why do I look like ' _this'_ the way I wasn't yesterday? Talk!" he barked when Tousuke hesitated.

Tousuke put his hands up as if they could protect him from Tobirama's murderous aura. "Okay! Okay! Easy, Tobirama. I'll talk!" Tobirama loosened his grips but didn't let him go. He narrowed his eyes, a non-verbal gesture coercing him to spill. Tousuke swallowed a nervous breath, his mouth dry. "Right. Eh, umm – Hashirama started a drinking game. The rule was the loser had to down an entire bottle of sake in one go at each round. You and your brother betted over something I can't remember, but I think it's –"

"Cut to the chase!"

Tousuke squeaked, "You lost! Three times –"

A grimace passed over Tobirama's features.

"—and passed out. Hashirama carried you over to the house of a tattooist he met at the bar. And then, uh, then –"

Tobirama released Tousuke and marched out of the men's bath. He didn't have to stay and hear the rest to know how it's going to end.

He descended a flight of stairs and came to another corridor on the ground floor. Hashirama stood at one end, his back to him. He seemed to be in high spirits, talking animatedly to their acting commander. Naomoto was the brothers' first cousin once removed, and served their father as his right-hand man. Since he's older, the brothers called him _uncle_ for simplicity's sake.

Over Hashirama's shoulder, Naomoto noticed Tobirama striding towards them with resolve. A storm was brewing beneath a façade. "I don't know what you did, Hashirama," he calmly said, "but I suggest you better run."

Hashirama took one glance at his brother and legged it towards the exit behind his uncle. Tobirama gave chase.

Naomoto followed the boys at a normal pace to the porch. He watched the brothers running barefooted past their tethered horses and into the forest behind the inn. A jet of water burst through the canopies, and a yelp could be heard echoing throughout the village.

Naomoto shook his head in disbelief. _'What a way to start a day._ '

* * *

As each passing day brought them closer to home, a giddy atmosphere had swept through the Senju warriors, building up as they journeyed through the Land of Fire.

Only one of them couldn't join in the jolly mood.

Everyone's keeping a safe distance.

Hashirama had to be physically restrained from coming too close to the designated hazard zone. He'd been apologising non-stop and throwing kicked-puppy looks at his stony-faced brother since leaving the seaside village.

On the fourth day of travelling, the excitement had leaked through the travel-and-battle-weary features. Their long journey was finally coming to an end, and it's as if an invisible lid on was taken off. Talks of families sprung up. A handful of new parents were about to meet their children for the first time. There were friends to catch up with, relatives to visit, and home-cooked meals to feast on. When night had fallen and everyone was gathered around the crackling fires, singing songs and joking aloud, even Tobirama was starting to look forward to the prospect of home.

It was past noon the next day when they reached the gate of the Senju's village.

The soldiers assembled at an empty training ground in an immaculate formation, standing at attention in front of Naomoto. Hashirama and Tobirama stood at a respectful distance behind him, facing their men.

As their uncle gave thanks, Tobirama studied his brother out of the corner of his eyes. From age fourteen, Hashirama was the possessor of the famed Wood Style; no records showed any Senju predecessors possessed the Wood Style or remotely similar techniques, making it the first and only _Kekkei Genkai_ of its kind in the shinobi world. And with his unique healing abilities, Hashirama had been turning the tides in the Senju's favour. Soon his brother would stand in the same spot as their uncle was right now, to represent the head of the Senju clan in the battlefields.

 _And as for him?_

Tobirama tuned back to the present just as Naomoto ended his rousing speech. The troops were dismissed.

Naomoto looked over his shoulder. "Let's go, boys. It's time to meet your father."

…

Tobirama fixed a tenacious gaze at a random point behind his father's shoulder, pointedly ignoring his perplexed stare. He saw him glancing over to his right, at a nervously smiling Hashirama. Whatever happened between the brothers would be a topic for dinner, their father's expression told.

"You're looking on the thin side, Butsuma. Have you been eating at all?" Naomoto asked in good-humour. Now that they're back, he didn't need to be all solemn and tense in the privacy of the clan head's study. As before, Tobirama and Hashirama had positioned themselves behind him while he sat in the middle of the tight triangle facing the clan head.

"I appreciate the concern. But I can assure you my appetite is the same as always," Butsuma replied, evenly.

Hashirama frowned but didn't make any comments.

Tobirama took careful note of the exchange. Their father fell seriously ill last month, and Hashirama was summoned back to the valley to assume some of his responsibilities while he rested. From what Tobirama was told their father made a full recovery from the flu within two weeks before resuming his duty.

Butsuma spread out his hand. "You know how it's like dealing with the daimyo, meeting delegates, and all that. There's also worry over our winter food reserves. The usual stuff."

"Alright," Naomoto sighed, submitting to his cousin's hard-headedness. That trait of his seemed to have passed onto the second son. He cleared his throat and adopted a serious demeanour. "Shall we commence our meeting?"

"Of course."

Half an hour later, Naomoto had gone back to his own home.

Butsuma shifted on his bottom, crossing his legs and folding his arms across his chest. He looked more comfortable, his shoulders less stiff and the wrinkles on his aged face less pronounced, now that the formal business had been taken care of. He took a long look at his two sons. "Welcome back. How was the journey?" he directed his question at his second.

"It was fine," replied Tobirama, perhaps too swiftly. "We didn't expect to stop at a civilian settlement, but the village chief – Jiro-san – was generous."

His father had been briefed on the impromptu stay at the seaside village in the Land of Hot Waters. So Tobirama didn't expound beyond what his uncle disclosed, and specifically left out the bit involving passing out drunk and sleeping through the whole tattooing procedure. Tousuke claimed the tattooist had used topical anaesthesia on him beforehand. It'd explain how Tobirama wasn't aware of it all, but it didn't leave him feeling any less humiliated.

Though his father didn't pry, Tobirama was sure he couldn't dodge the awkward questionings later.

"Chichi-ue, how's your body?" Hashirama suddenly asked, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. "What Nao-oji said –"

Butsuma cut him off with an audible click of his tongue. He waved a hand in front of his face as though his eldest's question was a fly to shoo away. "Enough. Stop pestering me about it. I've told you I'm fine, alright?" he scowled, but there's a touch of softness in his tone suggesting he wasn't really as annoyed as he's pretending to be. "Now the two of you look like you're in need of a bath – goodness knows, I can smell you from here. You're free to do whatever you want for the rest of the day. But starting tomorrow, I'm going to keep the two of you busy."

The brothers exchanged a look. Tobirama lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug.

"We understand, chichi-ue," Hashirama caved in.

Relief briefly seeped into their father's features. "Good. There _is_ , however, a matter that requires my attention. For that, I need your help," he said, glancing over Tobirama.

…

It's nice to walk around without the cumbersome bulk of their armours and weapons strapped to their bodies, and the feel of their casual clothes against their skin was luxurious after months of wearing the same all-black attire. Not that they weren't washed or anything, for obvious hygiene reasons. They hardly had the time to spare on laundry when a shinobi's out in the battlefields.

Tobirama would've like to spend the whole day – preferably the entire winter – soaked in a yuzu-scented hot bath. Alas, there were only a few hours of daylight left, and aside from his assignment, the brothers had made plans.

After dropping off the dirty laundry at their house and notifying their father, the brothers made their way to the gate together. A solemn silence fell between them, their paces unhurried. Tobirama held incense sticks, and Hashirama carried a bunch of flowers from their garden.

Outside the village, the winter sun bathed the clan's cemetery. It sat at the base of the mountain where the clan's shrine was located, the surrounding forest in different stages of shedding their leaves. Some trees stood completely bare, while a stubborn handful of them clung to their last foliage left from autumn. The brothers silently passed through the rows of graves of their clansmen – people they knew, people they've never met – and halted in front of a headstone. Its elaborate design set it apart from the rest, except for the few belonging to deceased members of the main branch of the Senju.

Hashirama, the eldest, lit the first incense stick. Tobirama would join his in the incense holder moments later. Someone had come by before them, their incense stick long burnt out and left a vase of flowers, their delicate red petals still fresh and fragrant, identical to the ones Hashirama had picked.

Sasanqua, a flower their mother loved.

Tobirama took a step back at the same time his brother moved forward cradling the bouquet of sasanqua in his arms.

' _Chichi-ue must have visited this morning,'_ thought Tobirama, taking a step back at the same time a sullen Hashirama came forward cradling the bouquet of sasanqua in his arms.

After laying down their flowers beside the vase, the brothers lowered themselves in front of their mother's grave and offered prayers. She'd passed away in the summer, days after the first anniversary of the deaths of Itama and Kawarama, surrounded by her remaining family. The memory of her last moments surfaced in Tobirama's mind as the heady scent of smouldering incense wafted of his face. The encouraging smiles she'd given them, the serene look on her face as she took her final breath before slipping away from the mortal world. Even at death's door, his mother was strong in faith and spirit.

Tobirama and Hashirama continued their ritual onto their late brothers' graves next. Itama and Kawarama were buried in the cemetery devoted to fallen shinobi who'd died in service to their clan. Their bodies, however, were kept apart by two separate battles. They found sasanquas and incense sticks at their brothers' graves, offerings from their father. The surviving brothers added theirs, placing them next to his, as they did at their mother's grave.

As Hashirama lit his incense stick for Itama's, Tobirama glanced around the vast cemetery. His heart clenched.

 _Rows after rows of graves._

He counted fifteen new headstones had been added since he last came, for those who'd perished in the recent battles. Unbidden memories of recovering their bodies from ravaged battlefields played through his mind.

Tobirama willed those images away. Conscious of Hashirama, he kept his composure in check when it's his turn to light his incense stick. At the end of his prayer, he looked to his right, wondering if his brother's done.

Hashirama's eyes were opened, a pair of coals that'd been set ablaze in a swordsmith's furnace. They stared ahead with such penetrating glare, at something beyond Itama's headstone. At something only they'd see. Something distant and perhaps unreachable.

.…

"This looks like a good place to part," said Hashirama, coming to a stop where the footpath split into two. The paths ran in opposite directions, stretching through the bamboo grove as far as the eyes could see.

Tobirama nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry I can't come with you."

They're supposed to visit the families of their deceased clansmen to pay their respects together. Tobirama understood the importance of his task, but he still felt bad for letting his brother go alone and not being there to support him. It wouldn't be easy. It never was.

Hashirama wheeled around, his waist-long hair twirling with him. He let out a light-hearted chuckle. "Don't worry about it, Tobirama," he smiled. "I'm sure they won't take it personally. They'll understand once I explain, and I'll tell them you'll drop by when you have the chance. You go and take care of chichi-ue's important business."

"Thanks… anija."

Hashirama's grin broadened. He reached out and patted Tobirama on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "No sweat! We're brothers. And brothers have each other's back. But you know," his voice lowered and took on a conspiratorial note, "I'll accept your gratitude more if you –"

"Not in a million years," Tobirama scoffed.

The tattoos weren't permanent per se, and Tobirama knew he's partially at fault for getting himself drunk in the first place. That didn't mean Hashirama was forgiven. It's only fair he had his fun.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Tobirama's lips. Raising a hand over his shoulder, he started down his path and called out to his brother standing miserably at the fork, "See you later."

The path, one of the several winding trails, weaved around the bamboos like a snake. Finally alone with his thoughts, Tobirama reflected on the expression Hashirama wore back at Itama's grave. He couldn't shake off the feeling a vow was made; Hashirama was the type of person who'd stop at nothing to achieve his goals. There's something about the look in his eyes that unnerved him. It's one of those rare moments where he wouldn't dare think of crossing Hashirama.

The air stirred, and a chorus of rustling bamboo leaves swelled with the wind.

Tobirama snapped out of his reverie. He shook his head and slowed down his strides until he's walking at a calmer pace. Leaves danced around him as they sank towards the earth. It'd be easy to forget about the winter season, walking amongst the towering green bamboos, if not for the chill in the air. It wasn't unpleasantly cold like the winds of the seaside village, but Tobirama felt more comfortable with his haori pulled over his chest. For good measure, he crossed his arms on top to keep the fold in place.

Bamboos eventually gave way to deciduous trees.

The ground rose and fell like the steady breaths leaving Tobirama's chest. At one point, he stepped out of the path and carried on moving confidently deep into the forest. He'd walked back and forth through this part countless times over the years, he didn't need to sense their chakra to adjust his course. He knew he's close when the ground levelled and the forest began to thin.

A faint _thump_ drifted through the trees. The sound, or rather _sounds_ , went on intermittently with pauses in between lasting from a few seconds to a minute at most before restarting again.

Tobirama emerged into a clearing where a large house stood, basking in the warm sunlight. He treaded along the wall and stopped at a certain point. The sounds – of wood being hit by something sharp and heavy, likely an axe – were coming from the other side. He sensed a second presence inside the house.

He gazed up at the old stonework contemplatively, lips pursed and brows drawn. The chakra behind this wall was so different from his blood relatives, and yet so intimately familiar as his brother and father were to him. It caused his heart to trill for some reason.

Tobirama turned away from the wall and headed towards the main entrance. At the west side of the yard, he found her labouring over a pile of logs meant for firewood. Her forearms were exposed, a _tasuki_ holding back the sleeves of her kosode while she worked. Her amber hair was pulled into a ponytail and hung down the back of her neck, giving a sideview of a freckled face pinched in strain and utmost concentration as she swung her axe down on the log beneath her.

It went halfway through. A trickle of sweat rolled down her cheek. With a grunt, she raised the axe again.

Tobirama stood a few feet behind in awkward silence, staring at her figure with uncertainty.

There was a resounding snap as the final bits of the log split cleanly in half.

An image of an axe swinging towards his neck flashed in his mind, and he threw the idea of tapping her shoulder out the window. _Okay_. Perhaps his imagination was overreaching a bit, but he couldn't eliminate the possibility of her getting startled and reacting on reflex.

A heavy sigh of relief penetrated through his thoughts.

Tobirama hung back, waited to make sure she's taking a break before he crept forward. The axe was embedded in the chopping block, a thicker log derived from a tree trunk, and she's leaning against it, panting in exhaustion.

"Aoi."

There was an audible pause in her harsh breathing.

Slowly, Aoi turned around. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, and for several moments she seemed to question reality. Her face was scarlet and glistened with sweat. She brushed away the stray strands of hair from her eyes and stared at him speechlessly, clutching her hands to her chest.

With a jolt of mortification, Tobirama suddenly remembered the state of his appearance, A.K.A. the stupid tattoos, and mentally cursed. He was about to say something when she emitted a happy cry.

"Tobirama!" Aoi walked up to him, a wide smile blossoming on her face. "You're home!"

He'd been hearing her voice through her letters, and now he basked in the familiar warmth of her presence. After eight long months of fighting, fighting, and being constantly on his guard, he had returned to his birthplace to his father and clansmen.

And to Aoi, he could finally say it.

"I'm back."

* * *

 _ **I might as well say I'm back too with another update after a long absence. 2019 didn't start off easy for me. Last month, my grandfather had passed away. Before, he was admitted to the hospital since the beginning of January for a condition he had for three years. I may be at peace knowing he's no longer suffering in pain, but there's a part of me that's still coming to term with his death. And I would like to personally thank Mandy Faria for your words of encouragement.**_

 _ **Thank you all for following Hollyhock. I hope you have enjoyed Chapter 11. I know there's not a lot of action going on - it's the start of another story arc. This one I've been looking forward to for a long time: Awkward teenage moments, anyone?**_

 _ **Also I know some of you might be asking 'Tobirama is a minor! That's underage drinking! Isn't that illegal?'**_ _ ** _ **Japan doesn't have a law prohibiting underage drinking until 1922 according to an article on Tofugu.**_ Modern Japan allows the purchasing and consumption of alcohol if you're aged 20 or over. 20 is also the age when a person is considered an adult there. Before 2014, it was apparently lower at 16. I would think the Warring States Period in Narutoverse was a lawless time before the establishment of Hidden Villages. I mean, if a 7 year old is deemed an adult because he can fight in wars? It's pretty messed up. **_

_**But please if you're a minor, no matter where you are because you're bound by that state's or country's laws, please don't do underage drinking.**_

 _ **A big thank you to everyone. If you have any questions, feedback or comments, as usual drop me a message or review. Please look forward to the next chapter!**_

 _ **Character age list (as of Chapter 11):**_

 _ **Aoi - 16**_

 _ **Tobirama -17**_

 _ **Hashirama - 19**_


	13. Chapter 12

**...**

 **...**

Aoi frowned in deep concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth, as she painstakingly worked through the tangles in her hair. It's moments like this she wished for a small mirror which she could carry around on her person.

Squinting at her reflection wasn't exactly ideal, given that _it_ hadn't been receiving proper care in a while besides the occasional sharpening, and the slender surface made it tricky to view her whole face without having to crane her neck at ache-inducing angles. Sadly, she'd have to make do with the very limited resources she'd find, praying nobody – specifically, a certain guest– would walk in on her right now, standing in the middle of the kitchen and using a _vegetable knife_ for a mirror. That'd be awkward to explain.

The quick wash with icy cold water had done the trick. Her face was several shades closer to her natural fair complexion, and there's only a subtle hint of rosiness lingering on her freckled cheeks. Holding the knife at arm's length, she tilted her head from side to side. She pondered on leaving her hair down. She looked less like she'd walked through a windstorm compared to earlier when she'd first let her hair loose, but then she thought better of it. Wearing a ponytail was more practical for her work, and she couldn't get her stubborn hair to lay flatter against her scalp anyway.

Her hair was shy of brushing her elbows. Any longer, it'd be cumbrous and troublesome to maintain. Making a mental note to ask her mother for a trim tonight, she stowed the knife back into its drawer and reached up for the cupboard.

Across the kitchen, the kettle's heating up on the stove. Aoi arranged a tea set on a lacquer tray. While waiting for the water to boil, she leaned back against the counter to relax and started gathering her hair into a bunch.

A soothing breeze drifted through the gaps between the vertical beams of the kitchen window, carrying in the scent of winter flowers from the garden. She picked up a wisp of her mentor's voice in the air. Miyako was entertaining their guest in her study, three rooms down from the kitchen. Aoi wondered what they're talking about and strained her ears over the noise from the stove, unaware of her fingers slowing in their movements in her hair.

Her heart did a funny skip when Tobirama's voice entered the conversation. She missed getting the end of her white ribbon through the loop, and the flimsy material almost slipped from her grasps had her reflexes not kicked in at the nick of time.

Berating herself, she swiftly tied up her hair and threw it over her left shoulder.

A part of her acknowledged that there's no helping the way she's feeling. Everything felt like a dream: from the moment Tobirama uttered her name, to the brief chat they shared as she escorted him to Miyako's study. And even now, as she grabbed three _mikan_ from the fruit basket, it's surreal hearing his voice – his _actual_ voice. Not the one she'd hear speaking inside her head when she read his letters.

Aoi paused for a moment as the realisation dawned on her. She's still recovering from the shock of earlier; when she was chopping firewood behind the kitchen and he called out to her, she'd really thought his voice was a figment of her imagination. Tobirama had been creeping into her thoughts more than usual since hearing the news of Naomoto's men were coming home. _How many times had she caught herself thinking about him? Countless._

Nobody knew for sure the date of their arrival, not even Tobirama's father, which was unsurprising. Anything could've happened to delay the large group of travelling Senju warriors as they journeyed through war-torn nations, and it was a source of the anxiety that had gnawed at her excitement for the past two weeks.

' _But he's back.'_ Aoi clutched her hands to her chest _. 'He really is back. This isn't a dream.'_

She soaked in the buoyant feelings fizzling inside her, unable to stop smiling or the fluttery sensation behind her chest – until a sharp whistle shattered the exuberant moment, like a soap bubble popping out of existence.

She jumped with fright, swinging her head around. Swiping a rag off the counter, she rushed over to the stove to remove the shrieking kettle from the heat. The shrill noise soon died down and the kitchen was calm once more. A whoosh of air escaped her lungs, shoulders heaving with relief.

After filling the teapot, the tea leaves were left to steep in the hot water. Aoi set about preparing snacks: a plate of rice crackers, and three bowls of peeled _mikan._ Much as she'd love, there just wasn't enough time to whip up something fresh and warm fitting on this breezy day. She wasn't sure how long Tobirama's sticking around, only having a vague idea of this impromptu visit.

She shrugged, _'I'll soon find out,'_ and untied the apron around her waist. Balancing the tray in her hands, she walked out of the kitchen.

The sound of feet falling on the wooden floor grew from a gentle pitter-patter to a discomfiting chorus of drums booming in Aoi's ears. She stopped abruptly in the corridor, but the drumming didn't.

It was her rapidly beating heart.

A few steps away from where she's stood dithering was Miyako's study. The last door was open, through which she could see a glimpse of her mentor's elbow and the armrest it's resting upon. Tobirama was talking, the tone of his deep voice as poised and clear as Aoi remembered. She took a deep breath to calm her jittery nerves and strode forward, armed with the tea tray and a shaky resolve.

Tobirama and Miyako sat across from each other, surrounded by bookshelves and a modest assortment of peculiar trinkets the elderly Senju had picked up from her old days of roaming through foreign lands. The shoji doors on the porch side of the study were open for light and fresh air, and beyond was the picturesque garden in its early winter glory. Aoi often enjoyed admiring the view through the large window at her writing desk when she's taking a break from her studies or work. Finally, on the other side of the study was Miyako's working space facing the alcove. The elderly Senju had always preferred fewer distractions.

"Sorry for the intrusion," Aoi announced to the occupants of the study as she stepped inside, and the room fell silent. She was surprised and pleased with herself; her voice didn't waver.

Then Tobirama glanced up, and suddenly she's self-conscious about the way she's holding herself. It was all she could do to move one foot after another towards them. As though making space for her, he shifted slightly in his place while maintaining his _seiza_ form.

But Aoi had noticed the spot between Tobirama's eyebrows creased; it'd happened so fast, perhaps for a fraction of a second, a twitch was more appropriate a description. In the time they knew each other she'd learnt how to read emotions in the subtle movement of his facial muscles and body language. It hadn't always been helpful of course; being able to perceive emotions didn't equate to understanding the trigger. At best, she could only guess his feeling sore underneath from sitting. Travelling was exhausting and it hadn't been three hours since he got back.

She sunk onto her knees and placed the tray on the tatami. "Sorry for keeping you all waiting. I've prepared tea and snacks for us. Please enjoy them."

"You didn't have to," uttered Tobirama, but gave her a courteous nod all the same when his cup was placed in front of him.

"It's no trouble at all," Aoi was quick to assure him. Taking the teapot's handle in her grasp, she leaned forward to pour his tea. A cloud of steam swirled into the air from his cup. "You must be cold from walking all this way – here you go. Do help yourself to the rice crackers. They're really good. My neighbour made them. Oh! And the mikan here is sweet."

Tobirama reached for his cup, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I will. Thank you."

Aoi's face warmed, and it had nothing to do with the fire in the porcelain brazier next to her. "The pleasure's mine," she responded with a demure smile, and Tobirama found his lips curving up.

Miyako cleared her throat _loudly_. The two teens flinched in surprise and broke away. "If I may bother you for tea as well?" She raised her cup towards her student with an expectant look, the shawl around her shoulders slipping a little.

"Of course! Right away, Miyako-sama," Aoi flustered and scooted over to her mentor's side, while Tobirama was inspecting the rice crackers with sudden intrigue. Her mentor's piercing gaze bored into her as she poured tea into the proffered cup. She dared not meet her eyes, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. Fortunately, Miyako decided they should all take a short break.

They settled down to the snacks and drinks, the crunch of crackers and the ticking of a mechanical clock in the corner of the study filling the silence. Aoi, seated between Tobirama and Miyako, would check their cups were full and ask if they wanted more tea. One of them would occasionally reach for the rice crackers and their _mikan_ bowls.

Aoi took a sip from her cup, feeling her muscles loosening as the soothing heat of the tea flowed down her throat and spread through her body. Speaking of _heat_ , her face thankfully wasn't feverish anymore. And Tobirama seemed more at ease too, quietly savouring the last few slices of _mikan_.

She peered at him over the rim of her cup, tracing the curious streaks of red on his cheeks and chin. They stood out prominently against his fair skin and matched the shade of his eyes. She wondered if the colour was selected on purpose. She glanced away when he started to lift his head up, as if sending her stare, and pretended to study the hanging scroll on the wall behind him.

She saw him cocking an eyebrow. _Had he caught onto her poor acting skill?_ She scrabbled for something to say – now would be the appropriate time to ask the question that'd been prodding at her curiosity the whole time. She lowered her cup to her lap and clasped her hands neatly on her lap. If only to stop wringing them.

"So, Tobirama," she began in a faux business-like manner, wilting on the inside at her high-pitched voice, "what brings you out here?"

There was a long pause as Tobirama slowly and deliberately chewed up the fruitin his mouth, as if he's thinking over her query really hard. He'd have dragged on the silence for a few more seconds – just to tease her a little – but Miyako was already paying attention to them.

He swallowed and sat back primly. "My father has requested access to a map in the archive."

"Oh? Whereabouts?"

"The Land of Wind."

Aoi was genuinely bemused. "Wouldn't you have something like that in your house?"

"To be precise," Miyako spoke up, "it's an inaccessible part of the country's desert; filled with quicksand, lethal plants and beasts." She narrowed her eyes at Tobirama. "I'm puzzled why your father doesn't drop by in person. Instead, he sends you here. It hasn't even been several hours since you came back."

"I'm fine with it," Tobirama responded, keeping his tone polite and neutral.

"And I'm sure Butsuma-sama is very busy," Aoi supplied, even though she secretly agreed with her mentor.

Miyako was unconvinced. "He has always sent people over when he needs something from me. I very well think he's afraid of me."

Tobirama pursed his lips, face contorted with distress. He threw a beseeching look in her apprentice's direction but saw that she's already opening her mouth to speak.

"Geez, you didn't have to go that far, Miyako-sama" chided Aoi, letting out a weary sigh. "I'm sorry about that, Tobirama. You know she doesn't really mean it." She cupped one side of her mouth and lowered her voice, as if whispering secrets to him. "It's the cold, you know? Makes her cranky." She threw a furtive glance back at the elderly woman.

Miyako tilted her chin obstinately but didn't make another snippy remark and drank her tea.

Tobirama rubbed the back of his neck, holding the other hand up in a pacifying manner. "That's alright. I can… relate." He and cold seasons didn't mix well; something to do with the shorter and darker days of winter, and the freezing temperatures adversely affecting his mood. For Miyako though, she had to endure both the cold and arthritis-related agonies.

Aoi's features softened with compassion. Though it's common knowledge between them, it's clearly uncomfortable for him to admit a weakness out loud. "Does your father need the map urgently?" she asked, prompting the conversation back to the heart of the matter.

Tobirama let his hand fall back to his thigh. "If possible, he'd like to go through it tonight."

"Understand… But why that area in particular?" she couldn't help asking. "Along with the possibility of dying from heatstroke, dehydration and getting lost in a dust storm, it doesn't sound like an appealing place."

"In spite of its inhospitable environment, that place has vast mineral deposits," Miyako divulged, setting her cup back on the tatami. "The map in question is actually of a mining village, abandoned in the previous era, and it's proximate to the border of our neighbour. It's the only known copy in existence. I was lucky enough to come across a peddler on an off-beaten track in the Land of Lightning. Pretty eager to get rid of the map, that man. He sold it to me at a cheap price. Didn't believe the mineral deposits existed. The mines allegedly caved in along with the whole village so nobody had dared ventured back."

Aoi covered her mouth in horror. " _An entire village?_ How did that happen?"

"Quicksand." Miyako's shoulders moved beneath her shawl in a small shrug. "Of course, those were rumours. Explosives seemed more likely. But I didn't stop to verify my theory, as I was passing through the area."

Tobirama quirked his mouth in a wry smile. "Passing through, huh?" he muttered, at awe and disbelief at the elder's blasé mannerism.

Aoi echoed his sentiments. _'It really boggles the mind how she's even alive today.'_

As the brief humour faded away, she lowered her gaze and mulled over the foreboding thought loitering at the back of her mind like a ghost. Her reflection in the depths of her tea mirrored the growing trepidation twisting inside her. _'If Tobirama's father needs a map of that place, does that mean…'_

"Is the Land of River's daimyo planning on extending his border?" she asked tentatively. Even if the mine was a forgotten tragedy, she doubted the Land of Wind would sit back and allow another country to stroll into their territory, especially one they historically shared a sour relationship with.

" _That_ I can't say for certain." A trace of frustration leaked into Tobirama's voice. He wasn't happy at the lack of details. "The planning is still in the preliminary stage. My father is meeting a representative of the daimyo tomorrow."

Aoi's heart dropped with dismay. _'Another battle? That's too soon…'_ Her face must have given it away because she saw Tobirama glancing at her. She mentally gave herself a vigorous shake, firmly telling herself there's no need to fret over something that had yet to be confirmed. "How old is the map, Miyako-sama? I don't believe I've come across it before."

"Old enough that I won't allow it brought out of the archive." Miyako shifted her gaze to Tobirama. "I'm afraid you'll have to make notes and memorise the map there."

"That won't be a problem," he replied confidently.

"Humph. At least sending you here's proving useful," she mumbled under her breath.

"Do you mind compiling a list of things we should be aware of?"

Miyako closed her eyes, her expression and voice not betraying her inner thoughts. "I suppose I have no choice."

"Thank you," Tobirama bowed his head low in deference. "My father will appreciate it."

The elderly Senju made a dismissive noise in her throat. She lifted her arm from its perch. As if on cue, her student went over to help her remove the shawl and set it aside in a neat pile.

Wrapping her arms around her mentor, Aoi glanced at Tobirama. "Can you pass her the walking stick?"

Tobirama stood up and hesitated, casting a wary glance at Miyako to check if she's alright with it. To his immense relief, the elderly Senju didn't object and even uttered a word of gratitude as she accepted her walking stick from him.

He'd feel guilty for not assisting. Even though it wasn't by choice, as he remembered a much younger version of himself had attempted once and was sternly informed that his help wasn't _wanted_. At the time, he couldn't comprehend the elder's reaction and had thought her unreasonable until it was explained to him very clearly.

His late mother was a patient woman.

As Tobirama watched the seventy-nine years old woman being carefully and gently guided up from the floor by her attentive student, he pondered on the psychological effects a person might experience over losing control of bodily functions – something almost everyone, including he, was often guilty of taking for granted – and finding they needed to rely on another to survive. For Miyako, a long-time explorer whose ailments had forced her to retire from her adventures, the reality was undoubtedly devastating. Tobirama couldn't begin to imagine himself giving up on the shinobi life and shuddered away from the thought. He had no doubt she'd continue her passion into her old age if it weren't for her circumstance.

Miyako waved off her student once she's standing on her feet.

Aoi obediently stepped back, indicating Tobirama to do the same with a discreet nod of her head.

They filed out of the study and onto the porch, the two teenagers forming something like her rearguards as the elderly woman led the way to the clan archive. There was a slight hobble in Miyako's gait, her movement stiff from sitting down for a while. Otherwise, she showed no signs of discomfort.

A few paces behind, Aoi was close enough to intervene swiftly if her mentor needed help and kept a watchful eye out. Part of her role as Miyako's apprentice was acting as caregiver. Her mother's advice was to allow Miyako some independence, both to keep her happy and active, and at the same time make sure she didn't overstrain herself.

They crossed a covered walkway connecting the main building to a smaller one that functioned as a storehouse.

Tobirama peered up at the sky from underneath the eave. He had about less than two hours until sunset commenced. That should give him enough time to study the map. He entered the storehouse after Aoi and Miyako.

Inside was a labyrinth of trunks, bookshelves, cupboards and crates stacked up as high as Tobirama. It's hard to see even with the door left opened for light. They cautiously meandered through the narrow walking-space in a single row, Aoi in the head of the small group this time, and stopped before a tall oaken cabinet standing against the wall. Aoi approached it, placed her hands on either side of the edges, and pushed.

The deceptively heavy-looking cabinet gave way. And together with the section of the wall behind, they glided back along the floor rails and to the side, revealing a stone door covered from top to bottom in sinuous ink-black scripts. No matter how many times Tobirama had seen it, the barrier seal amazed him. And for good reasons.

Aoi stepped back from the door and looked over her shoulder at Miyako enquiringly. At the sharp nod, a wave of uncertainty surged through her like electricity. Her gaze flitted to Tobirama, who's staring at her in complete shock. Not like she could blame him. He wasn't expecting what's about to happen next.

She planted herself in front of the barrier seal, uncomfortably aware of his eyes on the back of her. She suddenly felt sick.

"Relax your shoulders," Miyako counselled. "You're very tense."

Aoi inhaled half-heartedly through her dry mouth. She brought her hands together, steeling herself. _'Okay. You can do this. Empty your mind. Focus on the key. Visualise it.'_

Tobirama watched with amazement as she went through a series of hand seals, transitioning from one to the next without the slightest falter. Taking another deep breath, she slammed her right palm on the door.

A barrier seal worked like a lock, and a specific _key_ was needed to release it. One couldn't achieve that on the stone door without learning the complex formula to overwrite its seal, both of which were conceived by a seal master of the Uzumaki clan commissioned by the Senju. The formulae were probably the clan's most guarded secret; for generations, only Miyako's family and the ruling clan heads knew the workings of the seals.

On many an occasion Tobirama had hung back with Aoi and observed. So seeing her, instead of Miyako, attempting the seal release technique had taken him by surprise. In retrospect, it made perfect sense for the elderly woman to pass on the knowledge to her apprentice. With a twinge of yearning, he wondered if there's a small chance of him acquiring the techniques in the future. Hashirama would for sure, sooner or later.

Tobirama shifted his gaze from Aoi to study the barrier seal. He easily picked out the antiquated glyphs unique to the Land of Whirlpools from the swirling mass of inky black inscriptions more familiar to him. Nothing had changed, and he could sense her growing frustration thick in the air. His own veins pulsed with the rush of adrenaline. In the midst of the tension, he snuck a quick look at a quiet Miyako. The elderly Senju's was observing her student with a pensive calmness.

Face scrunched up, Aoi pressed her hand harder against the cold and hard surface, exerting and concentrating.

Tobirama cheered her on in his mind, unaware that he's leaning forward. It felt like he's witnessing a momentous and lifechanging event. Any second now –

"Ah."

He realised a second later that the noise of surprise came from him.

Black squiggly lines radiated out from under Aoi's palm like a march of black ants. The procession was slow. But Aoi ploughed on, her chakra scorching sinuous paths over the stone surface. Her seal twisted and turned their way through the original formula before slipping into the gaps of the door and emitted a blue glow.

There was a loud judder that everyone felt. The stone door rose up, dragged open by hidden mechanisms.

Aoi stumbled away from the unveiling entrance and almost bumped into Tobirama who had darted forward thinking she might collapse. Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, and her shoulders and chest heaved with effort as she caught her breath. She was haggard from the mental strain of releasing the barrier seal. But astonishingly, she's still standing on her two feet.

Miyako rubbed her chin, ruminating. "Hmm… I think it's about time the barrier seal needs some restoration work." The cacophony of stones grinding together almost drowned out her voice. She shifted her walking cane in her hand. "Well done, Aoi. That was smoother than your last trial."

Aoi gave a jerky nod, not quite meeting their eyes. She appeared far more concerned with her sweaty palms she's wiping on the skirt of her kimono.

But Tobirama knew better.

…

The door shut behind them with a heavy boom that sent tremors reverberating through their bones. Tobirama glanced back to see the barrier seal rippling into existence. A similar one would've reappeared on the other side. The side they came in from.

They treaded the stairs cautiously. The walls of the narrow passage were barely the length of Tobirama's arms if spread out and apart beside him, and the only source of light in here was the cast iron lantern in Aoi's grasp. They were descending several feet underground, towards the clan archive which laid somewhere under the forest behind Miyako's house. Cables ran along one side of the wall, used for transporting books and scrolls to and from the surface, usually in bulky volumes that'd otherwise pose risk if carried by hands in the dark.

They could only see up to five steps at once, tricking their minds into thinking they're walking towards a darkness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The silence here was desolate, despite the creaks of the wooden steps under their feet, the sound of water trickling unseen in the pitch-black distance and their soft breathings.

Tobirama pictured Aoi in his head: a lone figure, almost ghost-like in the flickering shadows cast by the lantern, drifting up and down this murky and claustrophobic passage. Sometimes to clean the archive, but more often to transport manuscripts for work. And all by herself nonetheless, as about three years back her elderly mentor was prohibited from coming down.

He could see why.

Aside from the darkness, which was a hazard to anyone, the stairway steepened in a few places. It's reassuring to know Miyako's safe in her study. By now, he guessed, she's looking over her old journals for information – namely, poisonous plants and ravenous beasts – of the local area. Which'd leave him alone with Aoi in this dingy underground passage…

"Watch out. There's a low ceiling up ahead."

Tobirama ducked out of the way just in time. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings as he should. One silly slip could send him and Aoi crashing down the long, winding stairs in a gruesome heap of broken limbs and bruised bodies. But he couldn't tear his eyes and mind off her when she's obviously in low spirits.

"Aoi," he blurted, unable to take the silence anymore. "Don't let that dishearten you. You just got to keep practising."

A sigh echoed in the gloom, the sound soft and sullen like a gentle caressing breeze on a rainy day. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I'll just keep on practising," said Aoi, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. "As if that's not what I've been doing," she mumbled tetchily.

Tobirama frowned. He curled his hand into a fist, lifted it into the air and swung it down on the crown of amber hair without remorse, striking her head in a light knock.

Aoi cried out in surprise. She halted abruptly on a step, hands flying up to cover the maimed spot. She twisted halfway around, a flicker of chagrin crossing her features when she had to tilt her head further back to properly look at him and not his neck. As if his tall built wasn't unfair enough, he had the vantage point.

"What's the big idea, _Tobirama_?" she demanded, peeved.

Tobirama pulled his hand away; Aoi kept hers on her head as if she didn't trust he wouldn't pull another surprise attack. He studied her glowering face, half of which was shrouded beneath the misshapen shadow thrown off by her lantern.

He peered back into her seething azure eyes unflinchingly, arms folded over his chest. "With that kind of negative attitude, how can you think of possibly moving forward in your training?" he admonished.

They were standing very close, one step apart from each other. Aoi could feel the warmness of his breath falling on her face. She drew back slightly, lingered on the step vacillating for a few moments, and turned around to continue down the stairs. A second later she heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps following her.

"Geez, you didn't have to hit me."

"It wasn't that hard," Tobirama retorted, his severe expression softening with relief. She must be in a better mood if she's still talking to him. He slowed down when he caught up to her, leaving that one-step gap between them. "When did you start learning the technique?"

He was certain she'd never mentioned or hinted it in her letters. It's impossible for something significant like learning the barrier seal and its release techniques to slip from his memory. But he couldn't fault her for keeping a tight-lipped silence on the sensitive topic.

"… a month after you left." Aoi's voice was quiet and hesitant, as if it's something to be ashamed about. But she went on, "It took me four months to get it right on paper, if we're counting Miyako's tutoring and self-studies too. Two years of studying the Uzumaki language didn't prepare me for the real thing," she added with a dismal sigh. "I've been trying the technique out on the stone door's barrier seal almost every day for three to two months now."

"The seal was created by an Uzumaki seal master," rationalised Tobirama. "Even if it's been weakening over the years," as Miyako had implied, "it'll still need a person of calibre to release the barrier. _You_ managed to break it."

The tips of Aoi's ears burnt. She silently thanked the cover of darkness.

"Yeah, but… my problem," she breathed. She was able to knead chakra, but expelling it from her body took strenuous efforts and often left her winded.

Had she been a shinobi she'd be useless to the clan. Imagining her seven-year-old self on the first day of shinobi training and discovering her chakra control was horrendous sent her stomach quivering with nausea. Her heart swelled with love and gratitude for her father who gave her the freedom to choose her own path and had unwittingly saved her from a lifetime of humiliation, and decided he deserved a good massage when he returned from border patrol duty later this evening.

At least with Miyako and her scribe apprenticeship, the pressure was less and the chance of dying – in a world where she was forced to continue serving her clan as a shinobi – because she couldn't save herself from enemy fire was low to non-existent. Aoi repeated those thoughts like a mantra… even as she's falling back into the familiar abyss of disquiet and lonely bitterness.

Her lack of chakra control was a thorn in her flesh. It seemed like it didn't matter if she'd assimilated to life with the mercenary clan, there would always be something to remind her that she wasn't a Senju by blood. That she would always different from the rest of her clansmen.

Noting the change in her mood, Tobirama shook his head sternly. He knew what's in her heart she's not speaking aloud. "From what I understand, you're progressing well – and Miyako-sama doesn't praise anyone lightly. You just need to build more experience. Nobody can fully master a technique or jutsu overnight."

"I know," Aoi glumly acknowledged, slumping her shoulders. She cast a swift backward glance. "Look, Tobirama. I appreciate your encouragement. It's just… frustrating, okay?"

"I'm sure _that_ can be brought up when the Uzumaki comes," he pressed on. "Like Miyako-sama said, the seal needs to be redone anyway. I'm sure when that time comes, we can come up with new formulae that will ease up the release effort. You've come a long way, Aoi. Don't lose hope."

Tobirama might be strict and intimidating in his disciplines and wouldn't back down from being frank in his criticisms towards her, if he had any. But he still gave credit where credit's due. He's similar to her mentor in this way. It's their own way of showing they care, albeit in a prickly manner. Aoi made a small noise of acquiescence, and the subject was dropped for the present.

They travelled the rest of the way in peace, each lost in their own bubble of thoughts. Tobirama was figuring out how best to broach the matter with his father – _and when_ – and making plans to dig through his books for information on barrier seals. He grimaced at the amount of study materials he'd put on halt for the war. He had a lot of catching up to do.

On the other hand, Aoi was entertaining herself with the prospect of meeting a member of the Uzumaki clan, a distant blood relation of the Senju. She'd heard so much about their proficiency in the sealing arts, how they could merge an archaic language in seals to make them superior to others.

And there's also their hair, which she'd been told was truer to red than hers. A shade called pure crimson.

…

Aoi glanced at the marker on the handrail as they passed it. There were several fixed along the stairs as a mean to keep track of time and distance while traversing the underground passage.

The pair finally arrived at the cavern ten minutes later.

An earthen storehouse, the clan archive, stood at the end of a paved footpath. Two statues guarded the building. They loomed over the two teens, their stone faces and mouths twisted in a terrifying, yet impressive manner. One bore a spear, the other a sword. In the lantern's glow, the shadows made them looked ten times scarier. The statues were linked to the barrier seal. If a person forced themselves in, through physical or other means, the unlucky intruder would meet their swift demise before they'd reach the archive's doorstep.

As they passed under the guardians, a familiar shiver crept up Aoi's spine. It came to rest upon her – and an oblivious Tobirama. The strange phenomena trailed after their figures, watching them and gauging their intentions with genuine curiosity.

She continued walking calmly towards the archive as if it's normal and part of the routine. She'd been coming down here since the very beginning of her apprenticeship. But it wasn't until the Spring of the year she turned eleven that she'd begun dreading the trips, with or without company.

Finding out the possibility of a _tsukumogami_ existing outside the folklore she read in books and hear from stories hadn't assuaged her fear, and for a long time she was reluctant to tell anyone about her weird experiences; people, like her mentor and Tobirama, never seemed to act as if anything's out of the ordinary when they're near the statues. So when Miyako had said she believed her, after she couldn't bear it any longer and unbosomed her worries, it was a huge shock and relief.

The elder wasn't able to sense it herself, but her father apparently could and had even told her about _the spirit_ , a benevolent one, residing inside the ancient spear-wielding, macabre-faced guardian.

And after Aoi had been told that much, she was warned to keep its existence to herself.

' _Because who would believe me if I tell them I can sense such a thing_?' she sarcastically mused, as she stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors and fished out a key from her sash.

Her mind jumped to Tobirama. A sceptic voice immediately dismissed it with a dry chuckle. At least she'd grown used to the statues and its resident 'spirit', even if she's on her own, they'd ceased unnerving her.

Perhaps it's the assurances that she wasn't mad and the spirit wasn't looking for blood sacrifices.

…

Tobirama held Aoi's lantern and an iron padlock as she dragged the thick door towards them. He squeezed in after her, closed the door, and looked around the murky interior of the storehouse.

The clan archive housed an immeasurable wealth of knowledge and information – medicine and agriculture, science and engineering, literature and arts – amassed over the centuries, going back to the earliest Senju whose names had never been discovered. The story went that the Senju were descendants of demigods who defeated a great evil and settled down in Earth. The more believable version stated that the clan emigrated from a very distant land in the south, travelling far and wide, before arriving at what was the Land of Fire today and put down roots in this valley. As for who started the demigods' legend, he or she was as mysterious as their ancestors.

Aoi came back from somewhere with another lantern. After giving her the padlock back for safekeeping, they started down the long corridor, passing row upon row of bookshelves that soared above their heads and seemed to vanish into the shadows where the ceiling might be.

Tobirama breathed in the scent of musty old books, feeling himself relaxing at the comforting smell. But this wasn't just an ordinary storehouse for heirlooms. The archive was also the place original records of shinobi arts and fighting styles the Senju had developed and acquired through 'various' means were stored, and this included forbidden ones in a sealed vault. It took him tremendous willpower not to wander off and was glad for the distraction when Aoi began to speak.

"The map should be around here somewhere… but where is it?"

Tobirama kept his face perfectly smooth as he tore his eyes from hungrily examining the scrolls on a nearby shelf, feeling abashed at the momentary lapse of self-restraint on the inside. "It's in a scroll box, right? That's what Miyako-sama said earlier. Are we in the right place?" he asked the troubled girl.

"Yes. But, that's the thing – it's in _a box_." Holding her lantern high, Aoi moved it from side to side. All around them the shelves teemed with books, scrolls, boxes and earthen jars, and on some were the long and slender boxes for storing scrolls. There were several scattered about. Perhaps a dozen or so, she reckoned. But what of those hiding deeper in the dark depths of the aisle they're in which they couldn't see? She grimaced in agony. "It'll be helpful if Miyako-sama can remember if she labelled it. Sadly, I suppose that can't be helped," she heaved a sigh and peered up at Tobirama with a morose expression. "I'm afraid we have to split up."

"Got it. I'll start with this side then."

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating at a scroll box on the shelf above his head. She'd find that height difficult to reach without a stepladder.

Aoi nodded, grateful he wasn't annoyed by the setback. Normally, she wouldn't leave visitors unsupervised in the archive. But she trusted Tobirama, and he'd handle the precious artefacts with extreme care. She took the opposite row and, through unspoken words, the search began.

The boxes she'd been going through, came out either empty or weren't the scroll they're looking for. Irritating as it was, it'd sure beat discovering an ominous straw doll.

Aoi wasn't sure where this irrational fear was coming from. Perhaps it had to do with the odd jars and boxes she had come across during one of her routine manuscript examinations and cleaning, swaddled in sinister-looking talismans scrawled with red ink. She wouldn't put it past an eccentric ancestor collecting cursed objects.

…

"I think I got it."

Tobirama was nearing the end of the aisle and his wit when Aoi uttered those soft promising words. As it turned out, there were fewer scroll boxes on his side. She's about halfway through the aisle and perched on a stool, bent over a scroll she'd spread across her lap. Her lantern hung from a hook beside her head.

She tapped on the tiny figure no bigger than her index finger that symbolised a village. " _Kuroiwa…_ Yes, this is the one."

Tobirama hastily returned the scroll, a collection of poetries from the Land of Tea, into its box and joined her at her side. He leaned in, bending down for a better look at the map. A refreshing and citrusy fragrance of yuzu filled Aoi's senses. She didn't pick this up back at the underground passage. Then again, they weren't _this_ close then.

"Nice work."

It was a casual remark, but her insides fluttered with a puzzling warmth at his sincere tone and didn't leave her as she guided him to a writing desk.

Tobirama shrugged off his outerwear and set it on the floor beside him in a neat fold. The last thing he needed on his first day back home was getting ink stains on his favourite haori. The archive wasn't cold anyway. He leaned over the desk to adjust the lantern's position to his liking and sat back on the cushion, crossing his legs beneath the desk. He rolled out the map in front of him and got right down to business.

Some time later Aoi returned, the shuffling of her kimono and slippers making her presence known. She placed a stack of fresh papers on an empty spot beside the map and took a seat at the edge of the desk, cradling a palm-sized pitcher of water in one hand. She didn't notice him lifting his head slightly, or watching her out of the corner of his eyes.

Her profile exuded an unusual air of grace, the way she's holding her sleeve from her wrist and the smooth curve of her spine, as she ground a stub of charcoal black inkstick on the soaked inkstone. She'd once told him the simple and repetitive motion was oddly meditative, and he could tell she'd fallen into a trance-like state from the look of her half-lidded eyes and the arch of her delicate shoulders. Her ponytail had been moved from her shoulder, safely away from the ink that's pooling at the bottom of the inkstone, and now draped down her nape.

Tobirama's eyes wandered when she shifted to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He saw tiny glimpses of freckles on the back of her fair neck.

" _Keep your hands to yourself when you're down there." The elderly Senju threw a meaningful glance at the back of her student. Aoi was on the other end of the room, rummaging through the supply cabinet for matchsticks. "If I so much as catch a hint, I won't hold back," she vowed, every syllable ringing with an unveiled threat._

 _Tobirama bristled. "What do you take me for?" he argued in a low voice, taken aback by the baseless implication. Deep down he understood Miyako was being protective of the girl she'd since taken under her wing when Aoi was_ _ **very close**_ _to being a shinobi and grown fond of over the past nine years. Because he felt the same, though in a different manner, it felt like a slight to his pride. "I've been down there plenty of times with her and nothing immoral happened," he asserted._

 _He'd never bring harm to Aoi and he'd never hurt her. He knew the old scribe knew very well about it. But Miyako must be reminded._

" _Keep it that way then," she spoke without inflection. "But I know beneath the veneers, men are wolves – and you're no longer a little boy. Don't think I've never seen the way you look at her when you think she's not aware."_

" _What do you –"_

"There!" exclaimed Aoi, making the finishing touch with a practised flick of her wrist.

She lifted the tip of the brush and inspected her work. Scrawled down a strip of paper was _Map of Kuroiwa and the Wind-River border._ Satisfied, she put the brush and paper aside while the ink dried. All she needed was a twine to fasten the label around the map's box.

"The ink's ready, Tobirama… Hm? Is something the matter?" She cocked her head to one side, fluttering her eyelashes at him in bemusement.

Tobirama dropped his gaze to the map. He smoothed out an invisible crease. "Just thinking."

"Oh, okay... Well," she swallowed. "Let me know if you need more papers, or – or something."

He could stop her from leaving, but he just sat there panicking inside like a fool while she stood up and walked away. He hadn't meant to sound brusque. That wasn't his intention. Then again, how was he going to explain his real intention without acknowledging he'd been peeping?

Moments later Aoi came back, a book under her arm. Next to his writing desk was a staircase leading to the upper floor of the storehouse. She plopped down on the lower step, set the book on her lap and began reading.

Tobirama turned back to the map, the tension evaporating from his fibres. He picked up the brush and dipped it into the ink she made for him. Hardening his resolve, he plunged back into his work.

…

A tranquil silence filled the archive, broken by the occasional swish of a page from the bottom of the staircase and the crinkle of paper from the writing desk.

Aoi looked up for the first time in a while, feeling rather disorientated as if woken up by one of her cat's crazy late-night sprints around the house. This happened a lot when she became really absorbed by the books and their world within the pages. She blinked furiously to refocus and glanced over Tobirama, wondering how he's doing.

His brows were scrunched up, the muscles around the corner of his eyes taut, and his jawline set squarely as he analysed the map. His notes were strewn around him, and she watched him grabbing a random one to double check his findings. He compared the two notes in his hand, occasionally consulting the map, before going back to add details – or make some corrections, Aoi wasn't sure – his brush flying across the paper non-stop as he scribbled furiously.

Aoi briefly deliberated, shook her head and turned her gaze back to her book, content with enjoying this quiet time together.

…

"Thanks for chopping the firewood."

"It's the least I can do for taking up your time."

Tobirama had stayed behind for another hour after finishing up in the archive while Aoi prepared Miyako's dinner. He'd been adamant on helping, and the redhead wondered if he was making up an excuse so that he could accompany her home. Not like she's complaining.

Sunset was fast approaching. It was just bright enough to see without needing to light the paper lantern she brought along. The atmosphere was peaceful and nostalgic as they strolled through a dusty yellow bamboo grove side by side, their footsteps falling in harmony. It brought back memories of the times they shared in the presence of each other before Tobirama had departed for war back in Spring.

It wasn't unusual for him to leave every month or two. But eight months was the longest period he'd ever been away from the village. And sure, they wrote to each other. But letters could only convey so much.

They couldn't replace the actual person, and it was lonely and painful not being able to see or talk to him. There were nights when she couldn't stop worrying. Nights when, instead of sleeping, she'd sought comfort in writing him long letters or reading his old ones by candlelight; she lost count on the number times she'd fallen asleep at her desk.

But the fears and anxieties now felt like a figment of the past, as she let the reality of this present moment – of them walking together – washed over her.

Aoi hadn't the chance to look at him better in Miyako's study and the archive had been dark. Did he grow a little taller? He and his brother were about the same height; Tobirama a bit shorter. She fondly remembered when his brother had hit a growth spurt, he wasn't happy about his head being used as a perch for Hashirama's elbow.

At the rate they're growing, she'd probably need a ladder to stand eye-to-eye with them in a few years.

"Where did you get those from, Tobirama?" she asked, gesturing at her own face. Viewing him from the side, she realised the red streak on his cheek didn't start from his jawline, but just above it.

He touched his chin self-consciously. "I was wondering when you'll ask – or if they've disappeared without me realising. I'm surprised you didn't sooner."

"There was a more pressing matter," Aoi carefully hinted. They weren't supposed to discuss anything that'd transpired at Miyako's house out in the open. There didn't seem to be anyone apart from them on the path, but she'd rather err on the side of caution. "And I didn't want to disturb you. Though, I must have come very close to falling for temptation a few times. Are those… tattoos, or…"

"They _are_ tattoos," Tobirama confirmed, moving his hand away from his face to cross his arms over his chest. "And just so you know, I didn't have it done _willingly._ "

"Hah, I knew it'd be out of character," she smirked.

Tobirama slumped his shoulders with a sigh. "Miyako-sama had said something similar."

"Then, what happened?"

He told her. Everything. He decided it's better she heard from him than Hashirama or anyone else. Heaven knows what kind of cock-and-bull story they'd come up with.

Aoi listened raptly with wide, glimmering eyes. She giggled when Tobirama reached the part where he'd sent his elder brother flying through the trees with a jet of _Water Bullet._ She was amused throughout, but showed genuine sympathy at his ordeal.

"Yikes, you drank that much in one go? Can't imagine the headache you woke up to in the morning," she pulled her mouth into a grimace. Unlike his brother, Tobirama couldn't hold his alcohol well. They'd learnt about his low tolerance to alcohol on his sixteenth birthday last year, and Aoi grimaced again remembering the disastrous evening. "Are the tattoos permanent?"

"They'll start fading after a few months, thank goodness for that. Of course, if _anija_ lied, I'll make him pay dearly." Tobirama clenched his fist, already picturing it hurtling towards his knucklehead of a brother.

Aoi frowned, unable to hide her disappointment. "That's a shame. I think they look nice on you."

He whipped his head around and sputtered, "W-what?"

"Hmm, how should I put it?" she mused aloud. "You look fierce with them."

" _Fierce_?" He stared at her incredulously, as if she'd suggested he took a stroll through the settlement butt naked.

"Tattoos are popular alternatives to war paints, aren't they?" Aoi pointed out. "They emphasise the shape of your face and draw attention to your eyes." She cupped her chin, her eyelids falling halfway over her blue orbs. "Yours make you look poised and intimidating. In a good way, of course." She clasped her hands casually behind her. "That's what I mean by _fierce_."

Tobirama looked unsure. "Really? You… mean it?" he asked, slowly.

She gave a confident nod, lips curled in a wide smile.

"I, uh – huh." He averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. The skin underneath his hand felt strangely warm in the chilly air, and he's grateful she'd turned around to look ahead.

Aoi was the first person to say something positive about the tattoos, and now he wasn't sure what to think about them. Maybe… maybe, they would gradually grow on him…

"Oh, that's right," she piped up. "I've been meaning to tell you this in the archive, but I've wanted to wait until you're finished." She took in a deep breath and asked, "Do you mind dropping by my house tomorrow morning? If you're free, that is. There's a book I found in the archive a few weeks ago that I think you'll find interesting."

He raised a brow. "You've been keeping it at your house?"

"I'd asked Miyako-sama's permission," she pouted. "It's still in good condition."

Tobirama wondered if he should ask what kind of book it was, but decided to save it as a surprise. Whatever it was would be a hundreds time better than waking up and discovering his brother had done something to his face.

"I'll drop by later after giving this to my father," he promised, patting his kosode where he'd hidden the notes and Miyako's report inside a scroll tube.

Aoi was astonished. "Are you sure? Don't you want to rest?"

"I don't mind," he assured in a gentle tone she seldom heard.

It was her turn to hesitate. On one hand she worried that he's hiding his fatigue – it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd pushed past his limits – but the selfish part of her wanted to spend more time with her friend. _'Maybe I'll get to hear about his journeys across foreign countries.'_

The thought sent a thrilling rush through her veins. She looked back at him and nodded with a beaming smile.

…

They parted ways in the village.

Aoi was wearing an ecstatic grin as she jogged down the street, her figure rapidly shrinking in the distance.

It'd been a long time since Tobirama saw her looking this excited.

He straightened his haori and as he pulled his hand away, his fingers brushed over a few oddly shaped lumps next to the scroll tube under his kosode. A smirk tugged at his lips.

Everything's going according to his plan.

* * *

 **Okay, first of all, I'm sorry for keeping you all waiting. I honestly didn't predict it'll take this long.**

 **A week or so after I posted the previous update, I had a bit of an accident where I slipped and fell on my knee. There was no serious pain or dislocation or anything. But few days later, my knee started to act weirdly. It gets really stiff, pops when I unbend it. I didn't know it's that serious, hoping it'll heal itself. Sadly, I gradually couldn't stand on my knee properly or sit for a long time as it'll start feeling uncomfortable. Worse thing is, my other knee and thus leg have the same problem now because I've been bearing too much weight on the other. So now I'm on physical therapy. I'm not 100% out of the words, but my legs are getting stronger bit by bit.**

 **I am not looking forward to when I'm over 30.**

 ** **It's hard staying positive when my body feels like it's covered in cement, and few other things going on in life. Which is why I sometimes have been putting off writing to rest my battered old body and mind. I won't feel like it's fair to deliver a poor quality work to my readers. (I do hope this one's still good) So t**** **hank you for the support and kind words from my reviewers. And thank you to my followers (new and old!) and readers. Hearts and love to all of you :3**

 **So back to chapter 12...**

 **The underground storehouse is inspired by an episode of Mushishi, called 'A Sea of Writings.' Heck, it also inspired me to write Miyako and Aoi as scribes.** ** **The two statues guarding the clan archive is inspired by Nio.****

 ** **And yes, Aoi can use her chakra but has poor control.**** **Are people surprised Aoi knows the sealing technique?** ** **What else has Miyako taught her?****

 ** **Speaking of seal,**** **the Uzumaki language is just something I came up with when I was wondering what made their seals more powerful than others? Most seals we've seen like the explosive tags and a few barrier seals have one or more Kanji and indecipherable squiggly lines surrounding it which are probably cursive Japanese writings. There's a filler scene in an episode where they talked about the Senju and Uzumaki's connection, the then Uzumaki clan head, Ashina used a seal on the lizard-like beast had characters that neither Kanji, Hiragana or Katakana. But kinda resembled Sanskrit or Hindu writings. I apologise for anyone out there as I am no expert in the latter two. Please correct me if I'm wrong.**

 **How many times have Tobirama and Aoi eye each other in one chapter alone? 0.o**

 **Also, Aoi can sense the paranormal?**


End file.
